Strippers, Wings and an Arse I Didn't Ask For

Disclaimer: Names have been changed to protect the guilty, any similarities to real life events are entirely 'incidental'.

Welcome to the first part of my World Cup Diary, and by first I actually mean Part 2 officially but who the fuck cares? Part 1 will also be the last one just to confuse things further.

So let's just say things are a little hazy here. We were in Vancouver to see New Zealand against Belgium, which would be my very first live World Cup game, and the days leading up to it were very much my equivalent of Christmas Eve. Our cabbie was a gem and told us exactly where we needed to go.

I seem to recall that it was vaguely associated with Lennox Lewis and that was good enough for me. We went in during Germany v Ecuador and I grabbed a Michelob Ultra. I wasn't relishing this as I prefer real lager, but I didn't have much of a choice. The bar staff were very keen to tell us that they'd been ordered to add tips to the payment machines but they wouldn't be offended if we declined. Top notch!

I nipped out for a ciggie at half time and saw a glorious sight: a crack whore offering her particular set of skills in exchange for half a packet of fags (cigarettes in the UK, this didn't get even more kinky). She'd clearly been beautiful once so needless to say I missed the start of the second half and I was totally out of cigs.

One relief was the fucking temperature. England was on fire at the time, so not having to unstick me dick from me balls every 5 minutes was a bonus. As was the fact the matches were on at reasonable hours in this time zone. I love football and I love the World Cup, but I'd rather have a sandpaper wank than wait up for Paraguay 0-0 Australia in the middle of the bastard night. (Fuck Infantino though, obviously.)

The Germans were surprisingly, and happily for us, vanquished so we strolled on. I needed fags (careful now!) and food, in no particular order. We went past the outrageously priced FIFA shop to find Popeyes Chicken, and next door Dave's Hot Chicken. Now KFC has gone to absolute shit in England and Popeyes for me is the best here, but as a fat bastard I was well aware of Dave's wares and this was my first chance to try it.

Popeyes had a $5.99 meal deal on and was empty. Dave's meals looked to cost closer to $20 and was full. Of Koreans. Decision made! I approved of the staff wearing gloves but it made me slightly wary, so I thought I'd go for medium and then come back the next day for the real stuff if it wasn't hot enough. I'm generally a Vindaloo person but I've found to my cost that going too spicy while travelling can be a proper pain in the arse!

Long and short, it was the best chicken I'd ever had. I didn't understand the slice of bread being there but I didn't care. I also managed to avoid an error that I've made before when chopping a scotch bonnet: I remembered to scrupulously wash my hands before going for a piss.

The days were a jumble and we weren't there long, so some of this is a blur and I'll leave it for now. We've still got tits, arses, deluded Jocks and New Zealand v Belgium to go into. Maybe tomorrow.