Didn't go to Wigan last week, my friend, who is a semi-pro snooker/pool player, had a game. I remember when I lived with him and he let me down with going to his games, he'd come back and make it up by buying a load of alcohol and we'd drink all night watching stupid films and laughing at anything all the time. Can't do that anymore, since he's in a different city.
I was hungover all yesterday after I was out drinking all of Saturday. Thing is, I'd been in town since 6am (got up at 5) and I met my friend (who I've known since we were kids) at around 12pm. We watched the football in the pub (Liverpool v Man Utd) and we won 4-1, and I almost ruined my voice with shouting like I did last month at the Frank Turner gig.
I was never a sport fan, but I like the footy these days, I haven't got much so might as well have something. I love how the Liverpool fan are the most loyal of fans, and our team always end up around 4th at the end of the season. (Even though we are the best and most successful club in the whole of Europe). And the fierce fierce rivalry against Man Utd. And we've lost ont 2 times this season and we're only a couple of points away from 1st place (at equal 3rd right now).
Anyway, we sat in our favorite bar until around 9 or 10pm and we talked for ages. Just about moving out and getting a place to live, crappy jobs, holiday in Europe, which barmaid was hotter. I told him about the novel I was going to work on, which I haven't bothered with, and I knew I wouldn't do it, I don't have the patience or the attention span. But it doesn't matter. I'm still collecting ideas.
I'm not good at making notes on my laptop, I like to write by hand, but I don't even have a paper pad, I should remember to buy one. My ideas are ... well, secret. .... Actually, writing this makes me want to write that story now. Damn.
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