It’s one o’clock and we’re having a pre-match pint. It’s been a hard week at the warehouse and the lager gives me a kick-start.
Let him have his dreams and believe in love and romance. Suppose we all do deep down if we thought about being honest.
It really was shocking, as though the world was going mad, people turning in on themselves and falling prey to wicked thoughts.
He doesn’t care if my trainers get wet because we’re at the seaside and it doesn’t matter at the seaside, nothing matters at the seaside.
You’ve got to take your chances in life, don’t ignore the opportunities when the crop up as you don’t get that many, every little helps, the small victories are important because that’s your lot.
The rush is there and my body tingles. Sounds funny but it’s true. It’s better than shafting a bird. Better than speeding. Mark’s head is a mess but the bleeding has stopped. My knuckles are bruised and Rod’s eyes have gone a bit mental looking. We join the crush trying to get into the ground and we can hear the constant chant of CHELSEA. This is what life’s all about. Tottenham away. Love it.
Little hooligans showing off is okay when they do it away from us, but we don’t need that kind of behaviour. You have to have standards. Would have done the same when I was their age, but I’m not. Now is now. There’s no room for nostalgia.
We look at a couple of lads as they walk into the pub, Jim Barnes from Slough and someone I don’t recognise. A tall bloke with a silver earring who looks knackered with a bruised right eye and cuts along his knuckles. Must’ve had a good Friday night.