Sunday May 12th
Get up. Head very sore. Visit the woods. Backside very sore.
Look at the angle of the Sun. It’s cloudy. So I look at my watch. No porridge today, I’m late.
Get to the station. Train cancelled. Station not in focus. Too much honey last night! Send a text message to my cousin Harley, ask him to paws the coach to Sale.
Arrive at Twickenham. Very late. Just realised how unfit I am. Pretend that I’ve run all the way from the station. That nice young Will has held the second coach. Get on coach. Collapse. Pass out on the floor in my hibernating position.
Arrive at ground. Feel rough. Oh, I am rough! Put on make-up and make myself even more presentable. Perhaps that nice Jon Dawson will catch my eye.
Go outside to meet the fans. Legs very heavy. Sweating like a pig. Well, sweating like a really really big pig. Smell like a compost heap. Legs still very heavy, oh bugger, the Sun’s come out! Just hope that mama bear and papa bear aren’t here today. Their little teddy isn’t quite so cute today.
The sad little Sale mascot keeps chucking water over me and wanting a running race. Told him to piss off. He’s spoiling for a fight. But Harley’s a little under the weather as well. Has he put on some weight? So no fight today. Let’s just hope I can find Digger later, he’s easier to kick the crap out of!
Game finishes. Don’t remember much else. Went home with a sore head and woke up on Tuesday. Must text the boss, tell him that I thought yesterday was a bank holiday!

And it’s all true.

As told to 'Sleepy Hollow'