Fair play to me, I went all of the afternoon and early evening without knowing the score of the Liverpool v Arsenal game. I don't think I've ever staved off curiosity to such an extent. The highlights were due on RTE Two at 8.3o.
At 8.15 I made a trip across the road to Spar, and as I approached the fear hit me that the radio in the shop would give the game away, pun intended. With much trepidation I ventured inside to buy my phone credit and copy of Empire, and was fully prepared to block out the blast of the wireless with a series of bleats and la la las at top volume. It didn't come to that though. They were playing Journey instead.
Why didn't I just venture to the pub to watch the game? The usual. Three nights on the gargle had given me sense. Thursday was the table quiz in Slattery's, we came 11th or something, then it was Bowe's on Friday under peer pressure from Dave, Kev, Kev, Jay and Jonathan, fellow slaves to Setanta Towers.
I wasn't about to miss a rare chance at ale with Kev Murphy II - as distinct from the non-fat fat lad - et al, so merry was made. There may even have been beer spilled. I disremember. A great night with a bizarre coda in McDonalds, but that's mine for the knowing.
Last night we hit O'Reilly's for our Emma's birthday drinks. I made some inane attempt at water but the gods prevailed and I had a few lager beers. Just to fit in, you understand.
Anyway, today I rose at the ridiculous hour of 8am - 9am in old time - watched the very worthy 'A Guide To Recognising Your Saints,' hit town to buy Emma's belated present, then it was '28 Days Later' and avoision of the Anfield result, before the highlights, sushi and that lovely orange tea drink.