Left work early at 4 but still had to record the Football. I rang ahead and asked my Brother to leave the Telly on before he left and to leave it on BBC1 so that I wouldn't see the score if it was left on ITV. Managed to get the Train at 10 to 5, turned my Phone off in case some Moron text me the score, turned my Ipod up to an uncomfortable volume, and kept my head down. Then some kid with a fancy phone gets on at Blackheath (where else?) and he's only watching the game on his fancy phone. People start to realise and they nudge their mate sitting next to them and go 'Oi... See him? Yeah. One with the fancy phone. He's watching the game on his fancy phone.' (at least I assume they do - I can't hear as my Ipod is at an uncomfortable volume) They go and ask the boy with the fancy phone what the score is (probably) and exchange smiles. What does this mean? Has someone scored? Has someone done a particularly good bit of racism perhaps? I don't know as the Train pulls in to Bexleyheath and I jump off (not literally) and quickly exit the station (literally). I walk home, get out of earshot of everyone else. I know not to look in the House with the nice car down Fairlawn Avenue because they have no net curtains and a big Plasma TV on the wall. I keep walking, head down. I get home, put the Game on - fast forward through Jamie Carragher (he makes more sense that way). I smile childishly as it kicks off - it's so hard to avoid the score in the 21st century but I, The Artist Formerly Known As 'The_Kish', have done it.
And then I fell asleep and only woke up when the Commentator shouted 'LESCOTTTT'.
Football. Bloody Hell.
And then I fell asleep and only woke up when the Commentator shouted 'LESCOTTTT'.
Football. Bloody Hell.


