Icy football and foreign beer

I'm going to give up on updating every day. My life just isn't exciting enough.

Back to London yesterday which was generally enjoyable, with a shift at work. It was Members' Night, by far the busiest night of the year, and all the mentals were in tow. I shan't go on about it too much because you really have to experience it to understand it, but despite the level of complete lunacy at the club, it's a job I'm going to be sad to stop whenever I do.

Today I woke up bright and early and put on shorts, jeans, two t-shirts and a Brentford football shirt. Then a hoodie. It was time to go and play football with people from the internet. Slipping along the pavement towards the station I looked like Pingu on E or something, but I managed to get there eventually. Predictably the tubes were being crap due to coldness on the line, and I go to Baker Street Wetherspoon's at about fifteen seconds past twelve, meaning I couldn't have the customary pre-match fry-up. Fucking gutted. Had shitty ham, egg and chips instead.

People trickled in and we found a nice full size pitch with goal posts. Stripped down to my shirt and shorts, put my boots on and began to run about desperately trying not to die of frostbite. The game ended up being Nathan, Toby, Salim, Robbie, Rich and myself against Farhan, Carl, Pat, Ian, Femi and The Question (whose name I have no idea). It started very defensively with no goals in the first twenty minutes, a first for a football meet. Perhaps because it was pretty much impossible to kick the ball. Then two French guys turned up and joined a side each. We got the one who liked to run about a lot. He was wearing a Beckham shirt and was about an inch tall. Farhan's team got the more skilful guy who was so French he probably shat frogs. 1-0 to them v. soon. Then a whole bunch of other people came along. We had no idea who they were but they played for about forty seconds till the police turfed us off the pitch. We were allowed to use the pitch as long as we didn't make use of the goals. Because that makes sense in terms of what's going to become more damaged... so the six new randoms left leaving the French dudes and we relocated, at which point I decided to move to attack as there was no one there bar Nathan. We went 3-1 up, I'm going to take credit for one assist, one interception and one nicely thought out move that I had no part in but saw all the moves for.

Fucked about a bit. Stayed 3-1 for ages as our defence martialled by Robbie was excellent. Then it was 4-3 to us and things fell apart a bit, probably because we got bored of standing still in the freezing cold, and the defenders drifted a bit. Glen, Chris and some Asian dude named after the singer Beck rolled up. Farhan got Beck, we got the internet contingent. 5-5. 5-6. 6-6. Stayed six all forever, when Zak came along and joined them as well.

Our defence stopped bothering because defending is dull in these sorts of games, so I ran about hacking the shit out of everything that moved, meaning I have a bloodied leg atm. Still put it out for half a million throw ins and corners though, and chested one of the corners perfectly into the path of The Question to let him score.

Soon went 6-9 down and Farhan called for half-time. Twat. Ian called him up on this and we soon trotted off to Spoons for refreshments.

Kopi turned up which was excellent and we had foreign beers, including one served in a Buddha. She and I lost a fortune on the quiz machine, but felt quite proud of ourselves for answering all but the Very Important Question correctly in each game.

Most of the internet then left the pub and we were left with Sophie, Nathan, Question, Samina, Carl, Toby and myself. Chatted about various fascinating things. Eventually everyone fucked off leaving Sophie and me alone to miss the last train from Earl's Court to Richmond/Ealing Broadway and help some French people get to their hotel. Bus to Hammersmith. Got food. Kicked about a bit. Missed a few more buses. She got hers eventually and I found out about twenty minutes later I had no credit on my Oyster for mine. Sent plaintive texts out and Sophie called to keep me company for a bit of the walk home. She'd got home in seconds flat, it seemed. Home an hour later.

Now in bed cuddling up to a friendly bout of cramp. <3

Oh, and song of the day: Rage Against The Machine – Killing In The Name. Why not mark the day the campaign beat the X-Factor to Xmas #1?