- Jul 28, 2004
- 27,719
- 54,929
By this point I'd hit defcon 10 on the footballing despair-ometre, kicked the poof across the room (and this is not a bean bag poof, but one of those faux leather clad wooden things) launched the remote venomously into the sofa, from which it bounced across the room, sending the dog scuttling to hide behind Mrs BC in the kitchen, leaving me to incoherently try to assemble words like wankers, jammy, Scouse, ****s, fucking, bollocks, unbelievable into some kind of sentence.
My right fist is an internet shade of purple after an altercation with my living room wall at this point...