I thought you were a bit of a cunt at first, and to be fair you probably were. You probably (definitely!) thought I was one too. Wasn't that long though before you were lending me a hundred notes because my attempt at blackjack bonus abuse had gone awry a week before payday. Will never forget that. I never truly got to grips with your agoraphobia, certainly it wasn't a form of the condition I was familiar with. Am I a doctor though? No.
You were able to leave the house alright, no drama there, but any mention of leaving town was met with ridicule, as if some invisible force field had been put in place just to stop you. As a result you had to stay put while your fellow Liverpool fans headed up to Scouseland for the Champions League Final v AC, a next best option when getting tickets to the final proved impossible.
So we ended up in the usual haunt, and Liverpool were getting murdered, and myself and an Evertonian felt sorry for you. We know what happened next of course, practically the only time I cheered them lot for anything. It was a good night though, one of many in that place. Many a Saturday night would end up there, black aftershocks to finish - fucking hell. Then on to the chicken shop where we'd order all of the chicken they had left, that never got old.
We'd polish that off with the last few cans at your place. Watch a film or hop the music channels in the hope of catching something that wasn't shit. Music wise that was the time of Lostprophets - Rooftops mainly - fucking hell once more! Film wise it was Dude Where's My Car?, a film loosely based on a line from The Big Lebowski, and an awesome one at that. I always thought someone should take it further and make a film based on a line from Dude Where's My Car? Sweet, what's mine say? maybe, or AND THEN? perhaps. Fuck it I might have to do it myself.
Your favourite line:
- I wanna go on that ride daddy
- Me too son, me too!
RIP mate.
Comments