I finished work early today. I will shortly be getting the Bath City Supporter’s coach to Crawley. No, I haven’t heard of it either. At first I thought it was something to do with a caterpillar or some other bug with lots of legs. It is, in fact, a real place in the south east of England.
Crawley are one of the better sides in the league and have spent a huge amount of money on players. I think we’ll get beat. Looking at the weather, it appears I’ll be getting wet too. Not only that, I probably won’t get home until very late. I don’t really know why I’m bothering to go at all.
Luckily I have tomorrow off work, so can recover from the experience of sleep deprivation, getting soaked and witnessing my team get beat 6-0.
Something I forgot to mention in recent blogs, which has been plaguing me these last few days…
Last Friday, I had an unexpected, yet all the same distressing, experience with a spider.
This one was not as big as some of its brothers, which have invaded my flat in recent years. If my memory serves me correctly, Friday’s eight-legged fiend was only the size of a dinner plate – a tiddler in comparison.
The intruder was dealt with in the usual manner – a quick spray from my trusty spider killer. It ran under the TV cabinet and hasn’t been seen since. I can only assume it has died, unless it is living there now, slowly bulking itself up and learning martial arts, like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, with a plan to one day come out and violently attack me.
More disturbing than the actual spider was what it appeared to shit after being sprayed. Left on my living room carpet was a baby spider. I always thought spiders hatched from eggs like the face huggers in Alien, not respawn into babies after being killed.
I just hope Mummy Spider hasn’t left more babies in my flat, as I will be in real trouble when they inevitably form an arachnid army and attack me, along with the ‘Uma Thurman Mummy Spider’.
The latest stage in Bath City’s journey in the National Conference was against York – the football club from the town of my birth. In case you were wondering, I moved down south to Bristol when I was a baby, hence the reason I do not wear a flat cap, own a whippet or talk like Mick McCarthy.
The York fans I did meet were very nice people, although I had to hide my excitement when I found out Leeds had beaten Millwall. Apparently York don’t like Leeds United very much.
The game finished 2-2, which was rather good, considering York have been tipped for promotion and every football ‘expert’ in the country has already said we’re going to be relegated with a record low number of points.
Bath City’s new mascot was also unveiled. A pig. As you can see, like with all football mascots, the costume is very classy and wouldn’t be out of place in an epic Peter Jackson movie.
Congratulations are in order to Leeds United manager, Simon Grayson, who today started a second job – as a lion tamer.
The beats that mauled the Robins of Bristol and the Tigers from Hull, were turned into purring kittens this afternoon. Further proof that Grayson is ‘The Football God’.
There are a number of things which scare me – spiders, gangsters with guns, Michaela Strachan (who hasn’t aged since 1989) and penalty shoot outs.
It is probably not a surprise that my fears sometimes feature in my dreams (although for the record, I don’t recall dreaming of Strachan and The Really Wild Show).
Last night I awoke to find a wasp dangling in front of my face, caught in the web of a huge spider. Of course, this was just a dream, but when you awake in the middle of the night, what is reality and make believe is much of the same.
Cue me leaping out of bed, shouting “bloody hell”, jumping around and turning on lights, until I finally realise it was all a dream and returning to bed.
If any of my neighbours are reading this blog and heard my shouts of terror at 1.20am last night, please don’t be alarmed – I was only going insane.
I think I’ll recover from the whole experience. If, however, I ever wake up and find Freddy Krueger slash marks across my belly, I’ll start to worry.
Joe Cole has always been a good boy. No red cards and no court convictions… until he moves to Liverpool. Sent off in his first game and now found guilty of speeding. Looks like he’s fitting in well…
The article states Cole gave his address as Chelsea, London. Probably a good idea if he just wants a slap on the wrist. Had he put Brookside Close, Liverpool; the judge would probably have brought back the death penalty.
This evening was the closest I have every come to being a tramp.
No, I didn’t give up my IT job to start selling copies of The Big Issue…
On the way home from work, I popped into the local shops to buy a pack of Thatcher’s Gold Cider.
Immediately after paying, a homeless man approached the cashier and paid for his own cans of cider. Sure, mine was a quality cider made from apples in Somerset, while his was super strength paint-stripper made from robot tears in a car garage; but the principal was that we both bought cider. For shame.
