Had two odd ones lately.

The first one involved me playing in a quite high level semi-pro football team. We had a top of the table clash against some local rivals and for some reason they played on a have sized pitch sited within a massive portacabin. It obviously doubled up as the clubhouse as well because there was a bar on the centre circle and tables and chairs all over the place which you had to run in between. Anyways, right on the stroke of have time, I smacked a thirty yard thunderbolt against their bar as the ref blew the whistle. As we walked off, their keeper started ranting about killing me if I did it again and then shoved a custard tart in my face. I woke up then so I divvent know what would have happened, but I expect I would of scored the winner and got knifed or summat.

The second one were last neet and was basically me getting a new job in the plods as a detective. And it also involved moving to Burnley, which for some reason had turned into a sort of high tech utopia. I had a lovely office but started getting bored with all the dull paperwork so one of the high ranking plods said I could go out with him on helicopter surveillance. When we got to helicopter one of my builder mates and brother were there and they announced that were taking the helicopter which they duly did. They then started doing all fancy tricks and loop the loops and stuff and swooping down and just missing us. The last thing I remember is getting proper narked and throwing geet tree branches at them. They proved an bit unwieldy and hard to throw, so I found an nest of baby hedgehogs and started scopping them at them instead.

I expect Frank to tell me it means I'm going to die and some other bellend to say it suggest I'm a latent botter, but any other interpretation would be welcome.