Sundays are made from laziness and languid late lunches. And god. And maybe football if you like that sort of thing. Which I do. Sports. Sports. Sports. I’m all about sports. Except most sports. In fact I am totally not about most sports. I’m all about football. And want to be all about baseball only I live in stupid England and baseball isn’t very popular here. Oh and, like everyone in the UK, I’m totally all about tennis for the two weeks of the year that Wimbledon is played even though I failed to ever see anything tigerish about Tim Henman.
Hello. Is this your first time reading one of my blog posts? Excuse me breaking the fourth wall and addressing you directly. That’s a nice top you’re wearing, is it new? I just thought you should know that yes, these posts are mostly pointless dribble like this but now and then I come up with the greatest words in the history of all humankind. I don’t always get them in the right order. So, enjoy yourself, always read responsibly, eyes may go up as well as down the page, terms and conditions don’t apply.
Yeah, Henman was a fop. As I contemplate his pathetic fist pump and tendency to crumble in the latter stages of his home tournament I am savouring the aroma of the late and sure to be languid lunch currently cooking in my kitchen. Mmm, grilled cheese is a proper Sunday lunch, right? It’s not? Lucky for me I’m having a more traditional roast type thing, then.
Yeah, Henman was a fop.