Today I found a new favourite pub to watch football in. And, what's more, it's much better than the old favourite pub to watch football in. The chairs are more comfortable, there's more space in general and it wasn't too packed considering the Charity Shield was on. Plus, and this may be a major plus, a pint of cider is only one pound fifty!

So I settled down to watch the match, and inform Gayle via text that I was in the pub, on my own, again. And she informed me she was about to go into a cave.
I was really good and didn't yell too much, just cheered a lot for the Liverpool goals. And Crouch did good, so I'm happy.

At half time, the couple who had been sitting on the other side of the table to me got up and left. I resisted the urge to tell them that a football match has two halves and so moved to one of their seats for a better view of the big screen. Five minutes later a bloke appeared and asked, in one of the deepest voices I have ever heard, if the other seat was taken and I informed him that it wasn't, thinking that I could just watch the match and ignore him and it would be fine. Then the match started and he yelled a bit, then swore and caught himself before apologising to me a minute later. So I told him I didn't care. Then I wished I'd not said that at all because he proceeded to swear more that I ever did during the World Cup and intersperse his half yelling, half mumbling with yelling that Chelsea should get sent off for their tackles on the Liverpool players. Then Crouch scored. And he yelled, and I quote, "F**k you Chelsea!" before proceeding to ring up someone who I can only presume was his mate and yell "Ha ha you Chelsea s**t!" down the phone to them. Charming. By this point I was wondering if a) he was in the pub because he'd been banned from the match itself and, b) whether it was sociably reasonable to take back what I had said about swearing.

I continued ignoring him. But then the match ended and I tried to watch the presentation and full time analysis but Deep Voice Man took it upon himself to ask if I was from Liverpool [no, I'm from Wembley] and then proceeded to name a couple of random places that he thought were near Wembley quite clearly with the purpose of telling me he used to be in some punk rock band. And then he started talking about travel and how I should take a gap year and wouldn't shut up or go away. I couldn't understand half of what he was saying due to the fact that a) I'd had three pints of cider, b) his voice was so bloody deep and c) I was thinking the whole time of the phrase, "you know I have a blog, right?"