Sunday 25 November

Swarthy Erick’s birthday and so an opportunity to catch up with Chorlton friends over what the Indian’s call ‘curry’ and I an infernal inferno on a plate. The louche ‘breads’ bring to mind Miss Jordan. I sweat so much that my snuff dissolves into my hand - a not unpleasant example of ‘main-lining.’

Just last year I was a regular ‘footerballer’ and the begging (after several large gins) of our manager Brian Gaffa to re-install me into the ranks is partly flattering, five-eighths embarrassing. Apparently I am a ‘natural’ but by partaking in such a recent invention in leisure (for years it was strictly a game for the workers) are we not all as such? I tactfully aside that it’s not the type of physical activity I have on my mind right now. Drunken dancing in the Newt fails to see me closing in on ‘the goal.’

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