Well that's football fever over and done with until, oh, er, let me see, oh yes, the World Cup next month.
Just before the Cup Final, I pottered down to Waitrose to purchase some goodies for Scottie, aka Snailspace, aka dilithiums etc etc, just to say thanks for the fine portrait he did of me. On the way back, I made the mistake of nipping into Wilkinsons, the, um, er...
Sorry, but I'm at a bit of a loss to describe Wilkinsons. If anything, it's a cross between your Dad's shed, the drawer of crap in your kitchen, and that old refrigerator that's been stuffed up the alley by the side of number 22. Needless to say, all the women in there looked as if they dipped their heads in a bucket of bleach every morning, and both sexes gave every appearance of subsisting almost entirely on a diet of six inch nails.
Give me Waitrose any day!