Greenwich Blade
Hitch-Hike General
Musical Blade was hunt-sabbing in Oxfordshire that day so, as pre-arranged, I texted him significant updates throughout the game. The problem was, he was so out in the sticks that he couldn't get a signal until they convened in a pub having saved the lives of 2.3 foxes. Then all my texts came through in one go and the poor confused lad read them in reverse order, starting with, "Match abandoned! Fuck you, Megson!" and ending with, "Tracey sent off for handling outside the area, the daft twat."