The Joys Of Summer

As you can see, Tom has taken over chief blogging duties as I'm spending the week with my hands down my pants eating Bockwurst watching the footie. In other words, I'm on Holiday.
And you can't beat a bit of that action last night. For a start it was a brilliant game, with genuinely breathtaking drama, the first real belter of the tournie.
Credit to England for giving the French a lot to think about and stopping them playing for most of the game.
Still, you have to laugh, not only at the quintessentially Scottish manner in which they lost but also the raw hilarity of a people who knock fuck out of eat other and their own communities when they lose....a fucking football match.
Precious little rioting about British soldiers being killed in a fake war, the mates and contemporaries of these morons - no, losing a game played between millionaires who wouldn't even entertain the idea of speaking to them; that's grounds to set the neighbour's Mondeo on fire.
I was almost feeling smug about those silly English hoolies until I got the 5 home from town today.
My sense of cultural superiority was puntured somewhat by a pair of schemies straight out of Ford Kiernan's cliche' handbook.
The Biggest problem, apart from the lassie being blind drunk at 3 pm was that "some guy" had said "oot ma way" to the man schemie, lets call him "Useless", which meant of course that "the cunt was getting stabbed". The plan was that he was going to wait until the guy got off the 75 in front of us, exit the 5 from the emergency hatch at the back and administer "a pure bleaching". This plan was sadly doomed to failure of course as Useless had failed to consider the fact that the 5 and the 75 go different ways and don't tend to deviate in terms of route simply because one passenger wants to stab another.
We then moved on to an argument between Useless and Mrs Useless about how pished she was and how she'd managed to get herself into the state she was so obvioulsy in. Her answer? She'd been up since 6AM. So of course, you start your daily drinking regimen a few hours early, your going to be off your tits ahead of schedule.
We then moved onto an argument about how long Useless had been out of jail. He said five months, she said three. After some though, and I can only imagine what an effort it must have been for him, he concurred, but, rather than gloat, Mrs Useless decided to spend her moment of triumph lolling around the floor like a stroke victim attempting fish a bottle of milk she'd dropped out from under the seat in front of her.
Mrs Useless was bade by her husband to "get up aff the flair" as she was "..pure embarrasin'" him. As I got off in Battlefield, they were busy arguing over who should roll a fag for the remainder of the journey.

So despite the wee chuckle I had at the English this morning, it would seem we are actually better than them at something after all. When it comes to worthless bams who ruin things for everybody else, we're still Number One.