Oh dear...

Well, I'm not talking about them poor Irish, who lost cruelly because they're not penalty experts. I fear the quality of the field in the final eight is going to be quite dreadful. But that's out of my control.

And I'm not talking about myself this evening, surprisingly. My thought of the moment is the dread I carry with my trip home on Tuesday. Had a sampling of saying farewell to a few friends today, and it is seemingly much harder than I thought it was going to be. But I'll leave that voclempt entry for a later date.

Tonight, I shall address the state of affairs concerning the shortage of good sandwiches in our world today. This is because I haven't had a proper Club Sandwich in months, and the one I had today for lunch was sufficiently repulsive for me to actually cough up my innards. My friend who was eating lunch with me thought I was choking to death, and started to panic. Luckily that was resolved in short order, and no ambulance was dispatched to my service.

I have since discovered that the mayonnaise they put in the sandwich must have been passed it's best before date. And olives definitely do not belong in a Club, whoever thought of that idea should be drawn and quartered post haste. The bacon...no, it wasn't bacon. It felt like recycled rubber strips which they used to make those traffic cones out of. Well okay, perhaps this is a bit of an exaggeration, but much more polite than the other example that had been floating around in my mind.

I sincerely hope that, for the sake of all mankind, that the art of sandwich making should be listed in the U.N. charters as something in need of quick repair.

Otherwise, we may never enjoy another good sandwich ever again. The consequences on the general masses I dare not imagine...