Aye, frookit, right enough.

Fuckity fucky fucky fuck! Fuckit! It was always going to happen at some point. But that was a bit abject. I mean, we'd only conceded 10 goals in 20 games. To let in three in one game...
I'll shut up. Bloody Falkirk. Get tae Falkirk, indeed, as we used to say as laddies.
So after a therapeutic couple of beers (aren't they always) it was off to the Filmhouse to see The Green Prince - about a young guy whose dad was a Hamas big wig and who became an Israeli informer. Fascinating - and yet more great documentary programming from the Filmhouse!
And after, up to the ever excellent Harajuku Kitchen! And Falkirk wasn't mentioned once. Why would it be? Stupid bloody game.