...back to France

On Saturday we went to cheer on Sheffield United in their yawn-inducing battle with Plymouth Argyle, who geographically I ought to support but don't because I don't like Plymouth and went to my least favourite school across the road from their ground. It was my first football match for over five years and in-keeping with every bloody one I've ever bloody seen it was a dull bloody draw.

Fortunately the gaggle of chavs surrounding us provided ample entertainment. Directly in front was a very cheerful pillock whose mouth had clearly been bashed in a good many times, and who sported a 'SUFC' tattoo across the back of his neck. Further forward another group was headed by a man who insisted on flapping his arms to taunt the opposition, a move which was utterly inexplicable unless he was making a comment on the abundance of seagulls at Home Park.

A little further along the edge of the Argyle supporters' area was lined with prepubescent Burberry-clad janners, who SUFC-man swore at and (in what must be a gesture of chav etiquette) exchanged mobile numbers with to text-arrange a ruck for later on. We chanted the name of the club; they retorted that we've "only got one song"; we sang about greasy chip butties; they called us dirty northern bastards. Seagull-man told them to 'Fuck off back to France'. All highly entertaining.


On Sunday we went to the Eden project. It's still bloody brilliant. They've got a new educational bit including a cool hydroponics area which looks very sci-fi. Last time I went I had never visited Asia but I can now confirm how Malaysia-y the Malaysia part is and that the Indian section is indeed very Indian. Dave was most impressed by a plant that smelled like a brewery, and almost refused to leave it.

I haven't sent any Valentine's day cards and I shan't get any so I think I'll get pissed and sing along with the jam night in Millbrook.