So after I terrorized Tish into playing solitaire with me, it turned out to be a difficult lesson in crap talking and here I am riding on a wave of threats to dethrone him, sitting in my corner licking my wounds. So tapau-ed. The final score was something like 9-2. It was 8-1 for much of the time until a late surge netted me one.
I got everything else done though. Chased my money, arranged a van to take my stuff to Junlinn's on Monday, and have generally had quite a good morning. Now I need to sort out my throat.
My mummy called as well, to check up on me after Cheryl told her I told her I'd fail. I think my sister stores up these tidbits of information that would get me in trouble for when she gets in trouble, at which point she throws them at my mum to distract her.
I'm so psyched about the match. All the pre-talk is really starting to get to me and I'm tearing the net apart looking for every piece of new Liverpool news.
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