Big Night Out

Jools and I didn't feel like going out tonight - she had a cold and consoled herself with a bottle of gin, while I sipped a glass or two of red wine. Gomes, the infernal goalkeeper of our Corridor Soccer League, decided that staying home wasn't an option, so he popped down to the Red Lion for "a couple of snoots" at nine o"clock.

We were awaken from our slumber just before midnight by the sound of scuffles outside and curses in three languages - Spanish, Bad English and one that was unrecognisable apart from a couple of Dutch/Afrikaans expletives.

Out I dashed and there he was, lying untidily beside the fire hydrant, sprinkled with snow, wearing a funny hat. "Where am I," he mumbled in semi-coherence, as I helped him to his feet. "What year is it? Why does my head ache? What time is Cam arriving to play soccer?"

"No soccer for you, m'lad," I replied in the most unsympathetic referee-waving-a-red-card voice I could manage. "You're banned for three games."

"Bollocks!" I'm almost certain was his response, but it could have been a muffled sob. Whatever. Now he's out for six-matches.