Sunday 6th October 2019

And the rain did fall, washing all the scum from hard streets of St Margaret's.

Well, it washed the dogs eggs and bird poop for sure.

The rain had begun in the wee small hours when I got up for a wee. Maybe that's why they're called wee small hours, cos you have a small wee?

Maybe not.

I have a stack of things to do, scanning, writing, football to watch, bacon to cook.

You know, the usual.

We have some music on, then I grill the bacon for butties, and I eat mine watching MOTD though I do fast forward through the Norwich game. I know we have the worst injury crisis in the club's history, but seeing the boys in yellow and green let in five would have been too much.

Jools washes up, and I get on with the stuff that isn't watching football.

The morning passes.

I prepare and then cook rack of lamb, roast potatoes, sprouts, cauliflower and warm through the creamed spinach that was left over to have a lunch fit for kings. Or at least us. Whilst eating, we listen to last week's desert island discs, and is worth 45 minutes of your time too. People are always interesting.

And then there is football.

Four hours of it.

And it wad dire stuff, especially the Newcastle v Man Utd game, which will be prosecuted under the trade description act as it appeared on "Super Sunday" and was not super in any recognised definition of the word.

We have olives and toasted cheese sandwiches for dinner. Which is a new combination.

And we find the weekend has nearly slipped by again.