First things first, after the disgustingness, medical trials and various tribulations of last year's Brain Day celebrations (they were magnificent, granted) I've decided this year will see it on hiatus. Maybe I'll resurrect it next year, maybe it's gone forever. I just can't shake the feeling that Brain Day is, like, soooo 2004.
Or something. Of course, I couldn't dispose of it altogether, so Cowzer's coming over to Lucan to check out the Liverpool game. Middlesbrough. Hmmmm. As I announced to the office last week, "it's potentially a slippery banana skin there Eamonn Dunphy, ha? Live."
Oh, but apparantly my Bill O'Herlihy impression is crap. You know who you are!
Anyway, what doing? Looking after 5X's kitten is what while he's off Gauling it to the nines.
Smelly. Little. Bastard.
I had company over on Monday night and damn if I wasn't embarrassed at how such a small creature could create such a foul odour. Jesus. So I'm there traipsing around town haemorrhaging sweat carrying 500 fucking pounds of cat litter in my bag this morning. It's no picnic - 5X, I salute your endurance skills and you owe me one. Scratch that, you owe me six.
What else? Quiet enough weekend planned, tomorrow night will find me in the company of my tormentor-in-chief, our sparring keeps me going through the tough times. Friday? Who knows. Saturday? Welcome back Premiership. Sunday? Laundry. Monday? Something about porcelain...
Over to Cowzer.