29 July 2010


Regrets are funny things, and one would think that the older a person gets, and the barriers of vocation, economy, meaningful relationships etc. become both relevant and legitimate, the easier it is to simply push them to one side.

So why do I feel so completely inept that I failed to follow through on my initial excitement and commitment to a trip in portugal with a) mates and b) Albion?

When I hear about the stuff that went on (the draw with Sunderland, the farce against that other team, the fruitless trips to the training ground where the only journalistic output was a tweet boasting the theft of - a dehydrated - Calde's waterbottle) I should be content with my decision to stay in Blighty.

But slowly, like the on-set of shame during a fierce hangover, the details, memories, pictures and legends are trickling forth from the TSLR party's Pandora-like Facebook pages.

No doubt more truths and mistruths will be published in the fanzine (TSLR021 next weekend), but no matter how dull the match reports, the burning envy that I now carry will only be flamed.  I will go next year I promise, though by that time Gus will probably fancy a trip to bloody Scotland.

Picture: The Co-Editor cools off post-Sunderland

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