The 6am finish.

Friday appears to be becoming a recurring event these days. With, like the best novels, a recurring theme. Needless to say this latest one has a more small town feel than most. During the course of this blog I've alluded to the fact that I am indeed from Warrington and these days quite single. Now, I'd done the moping bit to a tee and not really made any moves to rectify this recently. Most of my mates are set up, have kids, or are indeed married themselves (we're all 27-28.......) so it's kind of hard to go out and get involved, particularly when you throw in the excessive working hours of a hardcore recruitment machine like I.

So this Friday, I thought, on the advice of the Ex to go out and indeed "get involved". In no particular order the silliness included:

1) Testicle manipulation in a non gay way. Batwing. Goat. Bullfrog.

2) Utilising my H&M scarf as a limbo tool for the various ladies in a 90's bar in Warrington.

3)Getting told I looked hot by a pretty lady in a pink dress. But not sealing the deal. (What is wrong with me!!!?)

4) Falling into someone's garden, still keeping my Marlboro lit.

5)Competing for the most stylish "Mary Poppins" stair slide with my mate Nick. A Pop-off. As it's known.

6)Informing a random lady in Friar's Court that my name was Silas Fordyce III and I ran a sugar plantation in Maui. She walked off. She'll never wear my Panama hat.

7)Withdrawing £30 from a machine and getting hit up for £200 by my bank. £201.75 to be precise. Clearly inflation has hit a peak.

8)Getting told (at least) twice that I looked like I should be gay because I'm too groomed to be straight. Like a thoroughbred.

9)Taking a ladies number and then realising that all i'd done was enter her name. And only a surname at that. Cue much Facebook stalking. Dial "R" for rapist.

10)Texting my boss at work at 5am to say "I love you". She saw the funny side. Thankfully.

This all ended around 6am. There was more. But my mind fails me. I fucking (ironically) love Warrington. Where else can someone bop to Showaddywadyy in time honoured fashion while supping Stella at £1 a pint? Go to a nightclub where they'll play Kings of Leon and Scooter one after the other? Only in Warrington dear readers. Even better I have a visitor to give this tour to on Friday. W.A.R.R.I.N.G.T.O.N. What a god honest tour de force. Yes. Yes. Yes. I live here and I accept it, embrace it and appreciate it for what it is. Warring-fucking-ton.

Harry's Wedding

Well the card of fate has been played. Spurs now have nothing but a relegation battle to play for. To be fair, credit to Manchester United. They were impervious in defence, Vidic is a machine and Rio's Simpson lip just seemed to defy all before it. I haven't the energy to write too much further on this subject except to pinpoint Harry's floral arrangement sported jauntily at Wembley yesterday.

It simply begs the question, if Harry had taken the cue from Mr Nicholson above - was he the guy who soiled Carlos Tevez's face and neck with the acid burns? But what next Mr Redknapp? Shock buzzers? Pepper flavoured chewing gum? Blue mouth sweets? Fart spray? Hopefully next season Spurs will be sponsored by some form of Blackpool joke shop. There's an industry that the credit crunch can't deny, and neither should it. £0.99p for plastic ice cubes with flies in? £1.49p a Whoopee cushion? You just can't put a price on the classics.