So, where was I? Oh yeah, not blogging is where. Poor performance by me, I'll try to pick it up.
Still, a poor performance is what we didn't get from Liverpool in the week. For those of you living under a rock in Thurles, Champion's League semi-final!!! Bring on those lousy Russians, we'll kick 'em back to Rooskie-land and tell them to shut that Iron Curtain on the way back in.
Or maybe not, if our Premiership form is anything to go by. We were unlucky against Spurs on Saturday, should have taken their scalp. Still, we possess the best midfielder in England (John Giles' words, not mine), so optimism remains.
Of course I refer to Xabi Alonso. The other lad, Gerrard, is a good player but I'd be hard pressed to find a Liverpool fan in the last eight weeks who isn't tempted by the prospect of Stg35million. Sell him to fuck, and Kewell (waste of space) and Morientes (tackle shirker) and Pellegrino (disaster) and Smicer. I'll leave those particular brackets to you.
So, away from the field of play I've been playing away in Bantry and Limerick over these two weekends. The first with Johnny, Pike and the aul fella was drunken and pretty and, yes, pretty drunken again. The latter sees me sitting on my hole watching football and reading up on the exploits of former Mirror editor Piers Morgan.
Typos aside in the book (I just can't let the pedantry go) it's a riveting read. Morgan himself couldn't be more of a self-serving snake if he tried, devoid of morality as you might imagine any tabloid editor to be. However, by the same token he weaves one extraordinary tale after another. I'm no politiphile, as you know, but his tales of the Blairs, Mandelson, Gordon Brown and Murdoch make it all fascinating stuff.
Kinda makes me want to be a journalist.