I went to bed reasonably early last night, after spending a busy day sanding, wiping and undercoating downstairs and then watching the England game trying as always to spot STF.
At 3am when I was in a half doze, the phone rings and I fall out of bed in an effort to answer it before the rest of my house is woken.
"ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!"
"ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!"

"Hullo STF."
He's clearly drunk and giggles down the phone to me and I'm so homesick for Derby and nights out and drunken fun.
"Are you still in Geneva?"
Through a rambled discussion over his soggy pizza and how he lost his match ticket stub in a bin and had to go through the bin to rescue it I find out that he rated Young, hadn't thought much of Konchesky, tried to chat up a french lady, despite only knowing "Do you know the way to the train station?" in French. And he demands that I come see him next weekend and get some Real Swiss Chocolate and when he found out Charlton have Man U he decided that he was coming down to see it and that I would be taking him to the Charlton away fixtures at White Hart Lane, Stamford Bridge and Highbury."
"Yes but STF where are you NOW?"
"I'm in Derby! Keep up! I've been leaving messages on everyone's answerphone, you're the only one who's picked the phone up!
Guess what? I fucked up getting back and I had to leave early! Only the second time ever I've had to leave early and we were 2-1 down with 87 minutes gone and then I get back to England and I find out we won! And I went out partying and everyone knew the score but me! And I had the fucking programme and ticket in my pocket. Did I tell you I dropped it in the bin?"

After ten minutes of rambling he dropped the phone down the stairs, told me his pizza was cold again and that he was now going to watch the highlights on telly and I try and get back to sleep.