So congratulations to Porto for winning the Champions League. The new Chelsea manager seems like a bit of an odd bloke, so he’ll fit in at Stamford Bridge quite well.
Anyhoo, we were visiting a friend tonight who is recuperating after an operation on her back, there was some talk of the details but thankfully my squeam-o-meter kicked in and disengaged my brain before any of them made it too far. Ick.
Mind you, after four swift bottles of Corona I’m feeling a tad light-headed (christ, what a light-weight I’m becoming) so it’ll be off to bed for me soon.
But not before I mention that I’ll be buying Jordan’s “autobiography” at the weekend. No, not for me, it’s been requested as a birthday present for someone, and no I won’t be borrowing it as I’m not the slightest bit bothered about that “celebrity”. The birthday in question is my brother-in-laws girlfriend’s and will involve a 3pm start in a pub in the West End of Glasgow (somewhere in Ashton Lane). I’ve already written off Sunday.