March 10th- Don’t drink lot’s of Guinness

I woke up in my hotel room at 9:30, wrapped in the bed sheet with Sky Sports News blaring, feeling like bag of faeces with a cat turd on top. I tried to turn off the TV, but couldn’t find the tiny remote provided. It must have been in bed with me when I passed out yet it had completely disappeared from the room. I was slightly worried that I rolled onto it in the night and it had got lodged somewhere: I would be checking my stool with vigor all day.

I made sure I got my free omelette before 10am. I was still completely bloated because of several pints of Guinness and two trips to the Subway, which is open till 4am on a Tuesday. You know you have a serious eating problem when, like the woman behind me in the queue at 3:55am, you know the name of the server in Subway and ask for “the usual”. I didn’t feel like eating but breakfast was included so I legally had to finish it, I don’t think that means I have an eating problem; instead I’m just a bit tight, tight and painfully full.

My hotel room was definitely supposed to be for a disabled person. There was no bath, which is fine by me as I haven’t had a bath for about 10 years but instead there was a shower with a stool provided. I’ve never had a proper sit down shower and I must say it’s pretty good. Disabled people get all the perks, bigger toilets, a stool in the shower, great parking spaces: lucky bastards. The rest of day was mainly spent in transit.

We flew out from George Best airport. I’m sure someone has already noted this but naming an airport, where planes need to be controlled by highly skilled and concentrated human beings, after a notorious alcoholic is not exactly apt. That’s a bit like naming an oven ‘The Sylvia Plath”…well not really but you see what I’m getting at. I had the company of Rob for the travel back to Liverpool street, a lovely man, who is obsessed with the Isle of Man. He’s from there and like a giddy kid kept trying to look for his brother’s house from the plane; I didn’t really see the point because it’s not like he’d be able to see his brother waving at him or anything…

Spent the rest of the day chilling out in Brixton at my friend Charlie’s flat. She also has a Polish cleaner present. It’s weird that in 3 days I’ve spent more time with Polish cleaning ladies than anyone else. Maybe I should just become a Polish cleaner. I definitely don’t have the work ethic for it.