Saturday started in the pub, and it ended in the pub.
The time inbetween was spent on a coach, in the worst pub in Scotland, at Hampden park and back on a coach again.
Falkirk put up a spirited fight for the Scottish Cup, indeed they were the better team for the majority of the game, but that one goal, that one inevitable bloody goal by Nacho Novo was enough to give Rangers the win.
None of which really bothered me in the slightest.Saturday's Scottish Cup Final takes my tally of football matches that I've been to to less than six but more than four, I was really only there for a good day out, which it damn well was.
By 8:30pm, the headache had well and truly kicked in, the Magners was looking less appealing by the second and a lack of food since the worlds worst sandwiches (pictured bellow) at around noon was starting to take it's toll. A gentle saunter home, passing the kebab shop on the way, led to bed around 11 o'clock.
Sunday morning dawns and I feel fresh as a daisy. More than can be said for Ze Fazer of The Demon. He looks like a corpse, well more of a corpse than usual. It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon and he still looks like an extra from CSI: Vegas.Hopefully it won't be another twelve years before I can do it all again.
2 comments:
Have to say those sandwiches look particularly nasty... I reckon the alcohol protected you.
Steve - The bread was already curling around the edges when the clingfilm was removed from the plate, the 'margerine', if that is indeed what it was, was spread so thinly that you could only measure its depth in microns and as yet no one has been able to identify what the meat was. It looked like linoleum to me.
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