Weak Excuse

It's been a bugger of a week and I'm fuckin' tired. In addition to all the usual, everyday drama of life, love, work and the general nitty gritty of my incredibly spicy lifestyle the computer caught a virus on Friday night while I was at work and I although I managed to recover all the files, nudey pictures and secret surveillance dossiers I keep on the neighbours, I am still in the process of reinstalling everything and getting it working right again. I won't point fingers or assign blame here other than to say that Mrs. Waring is now well aware that we did not need that update to Windows Media Player that she was offered by that very official looking pop up.

I have stories from the week such as the IT trainer at the day job with the outrageous and very noticeable "outy" belly button and his Indian sidekick with the fake name, I also have a couple of very poor "Do you know who I am?" examples from the club but they will have to wait. I just don't have the time or energy to tell right now. I have a bottle of vodka in the freezer and have set the evening aside for it's consumption.

The 1976 FA Cup Final between Man Utd and Southampton is being shown on TV right now, it's funny how times have changed, not a foreigner on the pitch don't you know?