Once I'd took the decision to go out and watch the Champions League final on Saturday it was never going to end well. I was either going to be celebrating or drowning my sorrows (the latter as it turned out) and the result would be messy. How messy is hard to put into words because there are far too many blanks, including the hour where I seemed to teleport 12 miles across the island. I literally don't have the first fucking clue how I managed to turn up at my front door. At least this time I managed to remember that I live in Douglas and didn't try to go back to my old house (circa 2001).
This would all be good fun except that it's now Tuesday and my head still feels like it's stuck in a vice and my guts are doing their best impression of the magical shitting monster. If I had a job to go to this would be bad, as it is it just means I slob around earning bugger all and feeling sorry for myself. Well normally it would. However, because the wife is off work sick I have to look like I'm being productive, this means some old school waste your day web surfing which turfs up the odd video gem like this one:-
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