So I strode out of the house tonight, The Iggy Pop mix of Raw Power lacerating my synapses through my cheap and nasty headphones and making me feel about twelve feet tall. You know, that "I'm Fucking Alive" feeling that you just don't get often enough in a lifetime.... It's funny, because I was on my way to Firhill to watch
Partick Thistle, much against Doctors orders it has to be said. He said the Jags were "in for a pumping" as he took my blood pressure and advised I take up less stressful hobbies like lion taming or drug running.
Anyway, God only knows what the players had roaring through their heads pre-kickoff, but they arrived on the pitch as hyper, switched on and alert as I was and proceeded to play in a way I haven't seen this season. 2-0, going on five or six... Whatever it was, I hope the manager has a plentiful supply.
I've been a bit down for the past week it has to be said. Nothing big really, just niggly little things. Seeing my mother come back from a weekend break in Newcastle a day early due to yet another urine infection was a real fucker. I mean, is it too fucking much to ask that she gets away for a few days without coming down with this shit? That's two holidays out of three ruined by the same condition. Needless to say, she's absolutely armed to the teeth with anti-biotics for the next sojourn...... Wish her luck.
Talking of walking wounded, I'd also like to give a belated shout out to the Fat Sparrow, who's having a fucker of a time with illness too. Go and wish her well
here. She hasn't updated since late Feb, so I'm hoping she's Ok and just laying low. Haste ye back missus.
Ok, that's it.
Go on, Beat it!
