From the drafts file

Just waiting for my eyes to get tired. It's late, but no sense of sleep yet. There's a howling wind outside and the window is open so the room is cold. Nothing on TV after a day of football. Now, that gap between distractions. Too late to carry on with anything from yesterday, too early to start anything for tomorrow. Nothing to do but wait.

England drew with Sweden last night. I don't care that they still won their group. I don't care that they didn't lose. I wanted total victory. I have a nasty habit of seeing too much in a simple football game, and in the past got burned on a stupid run with West Ham. But England is dfferent. I feel like those fuckers betrayed me.

The police helicopters are circling over Streatham. Perhaps it's too dangerous to go out for cigarettes after all? And the alcohol-free booze I've been drinking has run out. Put this day down to being on tilt. It would always run against me - from the TV at work not working to the train I ran for breaking down. Forget that. Tomorrow will be better. Perhaps if I say that again and again I'll start ot believe it. And tomorrow is the week's half-way point.