Notices on trees

Summer in the city and there seem to be a lot of notices pinned to trees. There are the ones advertising the fetes and the other day I saw one where people were looking for a flat. A strange enough request to pin to a tree, but the tree had huge hanging branches which obscured somewhat the trunk it was pinned to. I reckon those people lived in the tree. Next time I pass I'm going to throw a stick up and watch those house hunters fall down like conkers.

Today's a hangover day. You know how it is, a couple of drinks with friends from work and the next thing you know it's 11pm and you're hanging around the underground station being told the Piccadilly line is closed for the night, so you have to take the Victoria line, which is going to mean a walk the other side.

Everything is so much more difficult on hangover days. The queue at the bank, behind a mother with two kids shouting about wanting a donut. Shut up. And I feel less inclined to go to the decent supermarket and go to the rubbish small one in search of sausages only to be greeted with a big empty freezer shelf where the sausages should be. Then you have to think of an alternative which isn't easy because your brain is determined to have a day off from thinking.

So I scurry back to the house and drink multivitimin drinks. Yeah, as if that's going to make me feel any better. The football should do it later though. It's England's first game in the world cup. I'm not going to watch it at the pub though. I can do without that commentator you get, you know the one, the one who always insists on standing right next to you screaming about how it should be played. They hardly even bother looking at the screen. And it's always some fat sweaty middle-aged bloke who if he even so much as kicked a football would have to spend the rest of the night in out-patients.

No, first match indoors - a good seat, and food and drink you don't have to queue for. I might go and pin a notice to a tree about this. Why not? Everyone else is.