...the day we went to Southend.

Well yes, in the grand scheme of things, we did. We had a nice breakfast at Liverpool Street Station. We laughed at the Kiwi girls in flip flops going to the probably very muddy V Festival queuing in front of us for train tickets. We laughed at Sheps and his pea sized bladder. We laughed at the kid from Southend in the pub in Prittlewell asking Sunderland fans for fights. We won back all our money on the quiz machine, largely due to my prowess on Bullseye. We watched Southend's annual parade and the fireworks for the first night of their illuminations. We ran on to the beach for a little bit. We laughed at Epping doing Parque through the streets of Southend, bemusing teenage boys with his leaping over benches skills, and then encouraging them to follow his lead. We ate chips. We missed the last train.

We did not laugh at the football. For it was of an incredibly poor standard.