Friday afternoon hangovers

Something is wrong when it gets to four o'clock on a Friday afternoon and you're still hungover. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, but something is definitely wrong. Friday afternoon you should be looking forward to having your first beer of the weekend, not looking back and feeling the effects of your last beer of Thursday night. I'm sure it's all my own fault one way or another.

In completely unrelated news, I can't remember if I posted a link to this description of a trip through America by one of the Football 365 editors. The guy who wrote the piece, John Nicholson, is something of a northern monkey, but he does every now and then have some brilliant descriptive phrases. Case in point, his description of one of the mountain folk he saw in northern California:

Here's one typical example: A male of the species, apparently hairless, Mid-forties; a big fat face like an 18-month-old baby; weighs at least 20 stone. Walks down the street wearing a huge pair of denim shorts that stretch from his knees to his armpits and are held up with rope braces hooked through the belt loops. I'm not making this up. He's bald, shirtless but has big black boots on and pristine white socks. It's 100 degrees in the shade.

I'm so shocked that I can't take my eyes off him. It's like a car crash. His wife/mother/ape thing is 4ft 10", wears glasses so thick they make her eyes the size of a boxer's fist and appears to have got caught up in some old curtains. I guess it was a dress once back in '65 maybe. She's staring around her wildly and thrashing her arms about as though fending off a flying fish attack.

His current column is an account of a gut who got dumped because he was watching Match of the Day while he was 'on the nest'. I particularly liked the part where the guy suggested they do it doggy style, so both he and his missus could enjoy the footie...