(no subject)
Christmas morning was greeted with a mahousive hangover, but it didn't stop the stocking being sharply emptied. Downstairs presents were opened and tea was drunk. The remainder of the day was spent at the Bevan's. After a delicious lunch I set up camp in the living room, which is where I remained for a good few hours, before realising that if I stayed there much longer I may well become one huge man-sofa monster (!!!) so I tootled down the road to exchange gifts with young Samantha. After this the small chunk of the day that was left was spent being patronised by Gary Lineker, marvelling at the X360 and having one of those good old chat that seem so rare these days. Overall an excellent day that was much like all the other Christmas', though the back of the mind niggling that it would be the last like all the others was one that didn't leave. I woke up yesterday morning with a horribly sore throat which got progressively worse. A trip to a cold Portman Road didn't help, neither did the result. Oh how we didn't know what we had 'til they went, all that can be done now is let the imagination see how King Shefki would thrive on the service of Haynes and McDonald. By today the sore throat had moved onto the stage of full blown cold, and I would have given anything just to have kept my eyes as tight as they were and simply listen to 'Babe' all day. Unfortunately the call of another family gathering stirred me into movement. At the table piled with Christmas day leftovers I barely said a word and was pretty unsocial on the whole, something of which I'm sure will be condemned by various family members, but golly I was in a bad mood. Tomorrow, if my state allows, I will be travelling to the depths of Hull for my first away game of the season, which should be fun, but for now I shall let 'Taxi Driver' wash away uncertain thoughts of what my friends look like.