MY head has gone a little bit here to be honest with you. I’ve been awake since five bells in a field in Glastonbury, listening to the rain pelt down onto the roof, saturating the already flooded ground to the extent that we might never get our car off this field again. We will have to leave it, gift it to Eavis. Love the farm, leave no trace. I know your game Eavis.

I’ve also just realised I have left my chair and wellies out in the pissing rain all night, which frankly hurts a lot more than it should.

I’ve been contemplating all manner of shite whilst I’ve been trying to get to sleep.
What is an acceptable time to have our first drink got about forty minutes worth of deliberation (half ten for those wanting to know — it’s going to be Aperol-based so that’s just like breakfast juice, apparently).

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When will the Glastonbury seagulls arrive for Glastonbury Gull fest 2016, and how the frigging hell do they know that this is going on? I mean, do they have Seagull spotters to constantly monitor rural areas of the country, keeping a look out for human gatherings and the consequent excessive food waste? Or have they put it in their diary, so that they just turn up every year on the off chance (I reckon they will rock up on Saturday night and start queuing, and that they have spotters, and some kind of cloud-based messaging system).

What time will Atko get up and is that him I can hear snoring like someone has stuffed a gerbil up his nose in some kind of celebrity sex game that has gone horribly wrong?
(It is him snoring, as far as I am aware no gerbils are involved, about 8:30am, and yes he is a celebrity)

What the frigging hell is going to happen with the EU Referendum is bouncing round in my head, popping in and out and on this one I have got no answers. I mean Brexit. Seriously? Who came up with that name for frig’s sake?
It sounds like some kind of bone supplement for dogs, or something fascists take on their porridge, a bit like bran, to make them regular and because The Daily Mail suggested it would cure cancer, bring Diana back to life and stop immigrants from getting into the country.

How on earth, would anyone, anywhere on Earth do anything that Boris Johnson and Michael Gove wanted them to do, without there being some form of gun pointed to their head and that of their entire family. I mean, Boris? For fuck’s sake. A man who looks like he was formed in an undercover CIA experiment to create a semi artificial human leader by extracting the DNA of Ludo, from Labyrinth, and an albino Orangutan, lashing it into a big DNA Tombola grow bag, squeezing it into a suit, stitching Owen Wilson’s hair onto its head and sending it to Eaton to form a new type of controllable posh man beast.

People think he is alright. You wondered why my head had gone.

In addition to all of that, I’ve also got Hodgson on the brain, and for the first time I’m actually feeling a little bit sorry for him.

SOUTHAMPTON, ENGLAND - Sunday, March 20, 2016: England manager Roy Hodgson watches Southampton take on Liverpool during the FA Premier League match at St Mary's Stadium. (Pic by David Rawcliffe/Propaganda)

I watched England’s 0-0 draw with Slovakia and thought that they played quite well, especially in the first half. Daniel Sturridge, Nathaniel Clyne and Jordan Henderson combined really well down the right. Jamie Vardy should score the one on one, and they had one off the line. They did more than enough to win.

If he doesn’t make changes, and the players look tired, he gets stick for not rotating. If he doesn’t play Sturridge and Vardy, he gets stick for playing Harry Kane, who looks like a really big tired old horse.

That said, I’ve just read his press conference and he has hung Jack Wilshere out to dry there and started to remove himself from the players’ failure the other night so I take that back, I don’t feel sorry for him, he really is a coward of a man. He will be Brexiting his head off tomorrow, absolutely no doubt about it.

But, the maddest thing for me about the the night is the stick Henderson has been getting, both from Liverpool fans and the wider public. I thought he was great. He was pivotal to everything England did well on the night, especially in the first half, swapping positions with Sturridge, overlapping for Clyne, showing inside all day long. The ball for Vardy’s chance is great, his attacking movement was really good, he looked full of energy and was getting in the box to offer a threat. What more do you want out of your central midfielder?  He offered so much more than Dele Alli, yet he is praised left, right and centre for his performance.

The French know a thing or two about spotting a player, or assessing a performance, and L’Equipe had him down as man of the match. I think it’s fair to assume that they can be seen as an independent judge of the performance, so they will do for me.

You will be glad to know, and probably a little bit relieved, that it has now stopped raining. The bad news is that Atko is still asleep at the time of writing (9:50am) rendering my earlier optimistic wake-up time of 8:30am somewhat redundant, and possibly threatening the proposed 10:30am Aperol start time. For fuck’s sake Neil, pull yourself together. This Aperol won’t drink itself.
Hang on, I can hear some rumblings.
Yerrrrrsssseeee 10 bells!

Vote Remain.

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