Sex, drugs and Martin Jol

Another Friday morning, another head-flooring hangover following a thoroughly inadequate four hours sleep. Frankly only the vain hope that
17:30 will come quickly is preventing me from nipping to the latrine and slitting my wrists with a sharpened pen top. Had I remembered it was an international weekend before getting
dressed and dragging myself to work I may well have just wandered out of my flat onto the balcony and thrown myself off in my pants. Perhaps less damaging though that I
simply distract myself by prodding