So Long, Ol' Chaps
I'm not what youse would call a seasoned traveler. I've seen my fair share of North America and the Caribbean, but I've never actually been to another continent. I suck.
That all changes tonight, however, when Don Fiedler, Handstand the Younger and Jake Zebra join me for our five-fixture, seven-day soccer junket to our old mercantile motherland 'cross the pond.
Regular readers of this here rag have oft rolled their lazy eyes in my general direction when a soccer post appears. But this is a special trip, a true once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hit England and Wales with planned activities and plenty of time to see the cities for my first time in the country. Here's the schedule for the week:
Sunday, 1/28: Chelsea v. Nottingham Forest (FA Cup)
Tuesday, 1/30: Reading v. Wigan Athletic (Premiership)
Wednesday, 1/31: Chelsea v. Blackburn Rovers (Prem)
Friday, 2/2: Cardiff v. Barnsley (Championship)
Saturday, 2/3: Aston Villa v. West Ham United (Prem)
Throw in the typical Yankee tourist shit and that's a fucking trip. You just can't go wrong with two jaunts to Stamford Bridge to see one of the best teams in the world, one of which is hosting our collective favorite non-affiliated player in the league (Gaaamst!), one trip to Reading, one to Cardiff and one to Birmingham -- two levels of top-flight soccer and one tournament match. And, of course, there'll be time for snogging the British.
But stick around this week. With the aid of wireless internets and any free time we can find that doesn't involve me waking up on a pub floor, I'll be checking in from our South Kensington flat to say hello and post pictures of people running like Welshmen. Look at 'im.
To better serve your boredom needs I've also lined up an incredible week of guest bloggers, so you'll be treated to 4,000-word essays on late-term abortion and Frogger from the likes of Dame Judi Dench, light-hitting utility man F.P. Santangelo, Alexis de Tocqueville, Spuds Mackenzie and Jesus F. Christ III. (Shit, that Spuds commercial is really much more awesome than I had remembered.)
If you miss me too much, which is fairly likely because I'm downright charming and possess no terrible body odors, there's always the Top Notch Slackin' repeats over there to the right >>>>> to cool down your jets untilst I return. And, as usual, I urge you to spend some time with the other bloggers from that column as well, many of whom are amazing writers and savants, if not borderline psychotic. They'll make up for my absence by gently rocking you to sleep.
Flip side, we'll catch youse. Cheerio.
(Interestingly, when I return I'll find out whether Roommate Dorsey hath moved out of the apartment or whether he's staying for another couple weeks. I've decided that if he asks me to help him move, my answer will be "Oooh, I'm sorry, I don't have knees. No knees.")
That all changes tonight, however, when Don Fiedler, Handstand the Younger and Jake Zebra join me for our five-fixture, seven-day soccer junket to our old mercantile motherland 'cross the pond.
Regular readers of this here rag have oft rolled their lazy eyes in my general direction when a soccer post appears. But this is a special trip, a true once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hit England and Wales with planned activities and plenty of time to see the cities for my first time in the country. Here's the schedule for the week:
Sunday, 1/28: Chelsea v. Nottingham Forest (FA Cup)
Tuesday, 1/30: Reading v. Wigan Athletic (Premiership)
Wednesday, 1/31: Chelsea v. Blackburn Rovers (Prem)
Friday, 2/2: Cardiff v. Barnsley (Championship)
Saturday, 2/3: Aston Villa v. West Ham United (Prem)
Throw in the typical Yankee tourist shit and that's a fucking trip. You just can't go wrong with two jaunts to Stamford Bridge to see one of the best teams in the world, one of which is hosting our collective favorite non-affiliated player in the league (Gaaamst!), one trip to Reading, one to Cardiff and one to Birmingham -- two levels of top-flight soccer and one tournament match. And, of course, there'll be time for snogging the British.
But stick around this week. With the aid of wireless internets and any free time we can find that doesn't involve me waking up on a pub floor, I'll be checking in from our South Kensington flat to say hello and post pictures of people running like Welshmen. Look at 'im.
To better serve your boredom needs I've also lined up an incredible week of guest bloggers, so you'll be treated to 4,000-word essays on late-term abortion and Frogger from the likes of Dame Judi Dench, light-hitting utility man F.P. Santangelo, Alexis de Tocqueville, Spuds Mackenzie and Jesus F. Christ III. (Shit, that Spuds commercial is really much more awesome than I had remembered.)
If you miss me too much, which is fairly likely because I'm downright charming and possess no terrible body odors, there's always the Top Notch Slackin' repeats over there to the right >>>>> to cool down your jets untilst I return. And, as usual, I urge you to spend some time with the other bloggers from that column as well, many of whom are amazing writers and savants, if not borderline psychotic. They'll make up for my absence by gently rocking you to sleep.
Flip side, we'll catch youse. Cheerio.
(Interestingly, when I return I'll find out whether Roommate Dorsey hath moved out of the apartment or whether he's staying for another couple weeks. I've decided that if he asks me to help him move, my answer will be "Oooh, I'm sorry, I don't have knees. No knees.")