19 Nov.

Underdogs saw us lie in ’til gone 8 a.m. today, though America’s snoring champion ensured it wasn’t any later. After fearing for him after our late return and typical home-time hijinks, “Paul” snored louder than anyone before or since—on his front.

That’s admirable in a way. A very bloody annoying way.

United kicked off away to Swansea at 9:30 a.m. local time, so Mark, Steve and I trekked across to 47th & Belmont to the Horse Brass, which was showing the 1-0 victory.

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“Why is it called football when they mainly use their hands?”

My lack of mobile internet was pissing me off—not because of any sort of dependence on it but rather because it was costing me $3 per day and not working—so I went and got that sorted while Mark and Steve went to the nearby Jeld-Wen Field to take in a university gridiron match (a quick search shows they were two of the 6,072 people who saw Weber State defeat Portland State, 48-33).

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Lads on pas-tour.

It would’ve been rude to not take advantage of the hostel’s lovely kitchen, so we finally had the pasta we’d intended to enjoy the previous evening. The red wine complement affronted one staff member, who told us we couldn’t drink anywhere in the hostel. This wasn’t #ladsontour-style boozing; this was glasses of red with a meal. You’ve never seen such a dirty look for such an innocuous reason.

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He drinks where he wants…

The wine was polished off indoors regardless—because #ladsontour and the awful, awful weather—and an early retreat to bed for a read ended what was a generally lethargic day.

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