don’t know when I’ll be back again…

Well, I do really. Mel made me book return flights. Even though I didn’t want to. We’re on our way to Mykonos. By the time you read this we’ll be there. Greek island, in the med… not a fucking clue. Fortunately the pilot knows. I hope. Can’t send now because they don’t have wifi on Easyjet. And if they did they’d charge you £44.63 a minute to use it. And it would be shit. And cheap and nasty. And orange.

I’m leaving England in protest about the football yesterday. The ‘official’ start of the European Championship finals. When England play. And although the law is: England can NEVER, EVER, EVERRRRR win the opening match of this European tournament, we almost did it. Came within about 90 seconds of beating those thuggish Russians and then, and then, and then… we didn’t. They scored. We drew. Spurs 1 Russia 1. Bastard fucking… bastards.

Wales however (my other fave team on the grounds that Gareth Bale is a god, a star, is the son I never had, is the hairstyle I never wanted) managed to beat the Slovaks. An achievement that is as wonderful as it is amazing.

Wales haven’t entered any major football tournament since 1958. They went to the World Cup, met Pele, end of World Cup. Pele was about 12 and already the best player the world had ever, or possibly would ever, see. And since then; no Euros, no more World Cup finals. They’re Wales. They don’t do that. Not even during the Ryan Giggs years were they good enough to qualify. Not since Cliff Jones, John Charles, errrr… numerous other famous Welshmen in the late 50s.

More importantly, my other England (I have so many), the rugby one, beat Australia for the first time ever in Brisbane. Well done ‘my’ boys.

Mykonos is famous. And famously gay. In honour of which, I tried on my new outfit for when we go clubbing on the beach there. Looks pretty cool. Especially pretty. I thought.

Have a gay day

A xxxx