Football, dodgy politicians and poets In pain again all day, making work difficult. Went to have my back massaged, which was agony but then completely removed the pain. For half an hour. Frustrating to be so close to finishing Skelton Yawngrave but unable to type for more than ten minutes at a stretch. In the evening Anton came around and we scored a Chinese takeaway from a restaurant next to the usual takeaway, which was a revelation. Then we watched the European cup final. Anton's beloved Manchester United put in a surprisingly abject performance against Barcelona, who Chelsea went out to in the last round thanks to a corrupt referee. Anton looking tormented and fidgeting about the place, and unable to watch half of it. I of course was able to view it with a dispassionate eye, while Calliope quietly supported the Catalan side. After, and NOT talking about football, Anton and I went to the Battle of Trafalgar for a consoling pint of Harveys, and a change of scene before he shuffle...
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