I didn’t go to the gym yesterday evening because my lower back had started twinging. Well, that and for some reason I was swept up in an unforeseen cloud of depression that made the idea of going into the tiny little gym we currently attend an unbearable idea. I can’t quite place why I had the meltdown when I did – I certainly think the back pain was a factor – but it thankfully departed after half an hour of lying in the centre of the floor in the spare room on my own. (It’s interesting how calmer I can feel in that room compared to the others in this house – I think it’s partly because there’s little in it and we don’t often do anything in it.)

Today however, with a little residual pain in my back, I pushed myself to go to the gym and was glad I did, not least because a weigh-in on the scales there revealed I was about 2kg lighter than the last go, which almost moved me to the point of tears. I’ve been 84kg for most of 2018 – in spite of the exercise, diet changes and cumulative hours spent in front of a mirror willing my body fat to just fuck off – so to finally see some substantial change was a great feeling. Naturally, I celebrated by consuming a Co-op pizza, beer and half a bottle of red wine: well done me, now let’s fuck it all up again in time for Christmas!

The World Cup started today, which is great, only it started when much of the world west of Russia would have still been at work the selfish cunts. How dare they not schedule things to suit absolutely everyone else apart from Asia and Australasia! I still haven’t watched Robbie Williams’ appearance in the opening ceremony – which as an unashamed fan is a travesty – but it’s not quite the same as when it’s live, and I’m still angry about the selfish scheduling. Apparently he didn’t sing Party Like a Russian, which to me seems like an opportunity missed, but he did sing a medley of Let Me Entertain You, Feel, Rock DJ (my karaoke choice) and Angels. You’re welcome. I’ll save it for a special moment on my own, as I’m sure you will too.

Oh he’s a right sort, isn’t he?

Excited by the World Cup, I naturally concluded my night continuing Northampton Town’s unprecedented dominance of the Premier League on Fifa 18. The pricks in the boardroom are getting on my nerves: in spite of the fact I’ve led the team to two promotions and am now on top of the Premier League and progressing through both the FA and Carabao Cups, they’re sending me emails to tell me I’m ‘not on track’ because of some nonsense called ‘club finances’. They should get off my case and thank their lucky stars as I’m clearly the best thing that’s happened to their shitty little club in its entire history. It’s not like I haven’t got another job to go to – I’m managing the Canadian national side too, just because I can! (I should probably put the difficulty up another notch to be fair.)

It’s my day off tomorrow, so I stayed up a little later than usual playing Fifa, drinking wine and half-watching/listening to interviews with Karl Ove Knausgaard (I may love him) It was interesting hear his point of view on his turning his life into novels (they’re basically autobiographical, with novelistic embellishments) It made me think about my own writing – if I’m thinking too much about whether something is funny or not, and if I’m forsaking artistic accomplishment in order to churn these posts out as regularly as I have been doing. All food for thought. In summary, it was nice to have some proper, old-fashioned me time tonight and actually properly enjoy it. Having this regular outlet at the moment has meant I feel a little less guilty about spending time doing things that I might’ve previously considered pointless when in a creatively-frustrated funk. It’s good news for me and it’s fantastic news for Northampton Town FC.