001
Hols were duller than usual. Could only afford to spend Christmas and its eve in Cowes with the family before the good captain busted my balls for missing our date on the pitch (she's a man-eater). Was nice to be back on the Isle for even a couple days all the same.
Got several lifetimes worth of sweets from Helen and Penny. Mum and Dad gave me the ugliest pair of flying boots on the face of the planet. Exchanged them the night gone by for enough duckets to sustain me through an entire season of the team's post-match pub adventures.
Greeted the New Year with the lads and the cap'n in Devon. We were all pissed as fuck by the time the clock struck twelve. Don't remember much beyond trying my damnedest not to let Randy snog me. Daft bugger woke up the next day with a detached retina. Serves him right. A greenhorn from the reserves'll be taking his place in the next match. Serves me right. Still stoked to make the Cannons backfire, arsefaced rooks aside.
I'm half a kilo underweight and everyone's giving me grief about it. Pretty sure I can still smash Gorgovitch's head in. Should probably pipe down before somebody slips arsenic in my firewhiskey. I can only handle so many arch-nemeses at one time. Anyhow, just want to drop a belated "season's greetings" in the journal ring for all those on whom I still keep tabs. Also want to drop a school of grindylows on all those who owe me money.
Peace,
Sloper
Got several lifetimes worth of sweets from Helen and Penny. Mum and Dad gave me the ugliest pair of flying boots on the face of the planet. Exchanged them the night gone by for enough duckets to sustain me through an entire season of the team's post-match pub adventures.
Greeted the New Year with the lads and the cap'n in Devon. We were all pissed as fuck by the time the clock struck twelve. Don't remember much beyond trying my damnedest not to let Randy snog me. Daft bugger woke up the next day with a detached retina. Serves him right. A greenhorn from the reserves'll be taking his place in the next match. Serves me right. Still stoked to make the Cannons backfire, arsefaced rooks aside.
I'm half a kilo underweight and everyone's giving me grief about it. Pretty sure I can still smash Gorgovitch's head in. Should probably pipe down before somebody slips arsenic in my firewhiskey. I can only handle so many arch-nemeses at one time. Anyhow, just want to drop a belated "season's greetings" in the journal ring for all those on whom I still keep tabs. Also want to drop a school of grindylows on all those who owe me money.
Peace,
Sloper