Day 132. We ride at dawn (11/5/19)

Swear to god I’ll slow down, and possibly even stop, at some point.

Not permanently, like. That’d be a bad thing. No intention of doing that, ever. ‘I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve it through not dying.’

Someone said that, no idea who, could google it but I’m a busy man.

On the train again.

Set of young lads next to me have Chinese menus on their phones and are going through them. Somehow the conversation has turned to the subject of custard creams, which one has just described as ‘weird World War Two food you’re not supposed to eat anymore’.

Hard to argue with.

I’m on my way to The Anfield Wrap’s end of season shindig, an event that will feature live music, memories of the season gone by, and confetti canyons.

To be fair, they had me at confetti canyons.

There will be a thousand people in the room. My guess is I’ll know quite a few of those. That never used to be the case. Until five years ago my average was generally somewhere around five.

The purpose of tonight? To get drunk, have a laugh and celebrate the fact that this season has been really bloody good, and in the space of approximately 180 more minutes could become genuinely legendary.

At which point you can expect more football from me than you’ve ever seen before.

No book though. Too much like hard work writing football books.

But I am mulling over the idea of a different type of book altogether.

That’s your teaser to the future. For now, my immediate plan is drunk then hangover then drunk again.

There is a very real possibility that I may not be sober again until early June.

Life’s hard.

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