Author notes: I've been wanting to start a story like this for a long time but have never got round to it, I've always been interested in writing fiction but I have never really had the time or energy to do anything about it, hopefully this story will change that. I have enjoyed writing the introduction to this and I'm looking forward to continuing with it, I hope you all decide to follow. I am of course going to continue with my Middlesbrough story, and will try to update both as frequently as possible.
Other notes: I am of course only an amateur at writing, this is the first story I have attempted in a very long time so if it is not correct grammatically or if my story telling is a little long winded that is because I am only as good as my GCSE English teacher taught me. Obviously this is story, very little of the goings on reflect real life, and I have done very little research into Russian football, I say this because I do not to offend anybody with my writing.
Intro
‘Mr Patrick, we have an offer you cannot refuse..’
I sit alone on my settee with a bottle in one hand and my beloved TV remote in the other. I’m not usually alone, but Roger decided he would have more fun chewing the rug in the bedroom than join me on yet another quiet night in. As usual I’m watching the latest episode of ‘Russian Premier Football Weekly Highlights Show’ they really don’t mess around with names of things over here. Unfortunately RPFWHS, yeah the abbreviated version is much easier on the eyes[?] was my weekly dose of excitement. I do enjoy watching it though, it’s so refreshing to see so many footballers playing in their home country, rather than moving abroad. I was given Roger almost 4 years ago, a little while after I moved to Russia by an acquaintance at the time. Now he’s the only friend I’ve got.. Times are hard for me here, I was living in what can loosely be described as an apartment, located above a betting shop in the heart of Moscow. My ‘home’ only has three very small rooms, a kitchen-come-living area, a bedroom, which is literally a cupboard with a bed, and of corse the all important bathroom, which consists of a toilet and shower, no sink included. Minimal furnishings of course, not exactly how I was leaving just a few years back.
As the credits started to roll I knew it was another 7 days until I would enjoy anything to do with life. My dark, damp apartment seems to light up whenever I watch football, it is what I live for, if only I could afford cable, then I’d be able to watch football from around the world, like I could back in England. Sometimes I wonder if I should run back to the West with my tail between my legs, maybe I’ve been in this country long enough. Not that I have anything against the people here, they are friendly and happy to have a drink with near enough any stranger who isn’t American and offers to pay. I just despise the way the way the football leagues are run, a bunch of crooks and terrorists who only care about their own financial gain, for every club that is run by a genuinely nice guy there are 10 that are run by oil rich crooks and drug lords. If only I knew that before I came out here, although I suppose everything happens for a reason, I will stay here until I feel fulfilled, or until I‘m dead, whichever comes first. Although on the bright side there are still some pure clubs out there, I dream of the day they call me accepting my application, although it’s been so long since my old Sagem phone has had any action.
Other notes: I am of course only an amateur at writing, this is the first story I have attempted in a very long time so if it is not correct grammatically or if my story telling is a little long winded that is because I am only as good as my GCSE English teacher taught me. Obviously this is story, very little of the goings on reflect real life, and I have done very little research into Russian football, I say this because I do not to offend anybody with my writing.
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From Russia With Love
Intro
‘Mr Patrick, we have an offer you cannot refuse..’
I sit alone on my settee with a bottle in one hand and my beloved TV remote in the other. I’m not usually alone, but Roger decided he would have more fun chewing the rug in the bedroom than join me on yet another quiet night in. As usual I’m watching the latest episode of ‘Russian Premier Football Weekly Highlights Show’ they really don’t mess around with names of things over here. Unfortunately RPFWHS, yeah the abbreviated version is much easier on the eyes[?] was my weekly dose of excitement. I do enjoy watching it though, it’s so refreshing to see so many footballers playing in their home country, rather than moving abroad. I was given Roger almost 4 years ago, a little while after I moved to Russia by an acquaintance at the time. Now he’s the only friend I’ve got.. Times are hard for me here, I was living in what can loosely be described as an apartment, located above a betting shop in the heart of Moscow. My ‘home’ only has three very small rooms, a kitchen-come-living area, a bedroom, which is literally a cupboard with a bed, and of corse the all important bathroom, which consists of a toilet and shower, no sink included. Minimal furnishings of course, not exactly how I was leaving just a few years back.
_____
As the credits started to roll I knew it was another 7 days until I would enjoy anything to do with life. My dark, damp apartment seems to light up whenever I watch football, it is what I live for, if only I could afford cable, then I’d be able to watch football from around the world, like I could back in England. Sometimes I wonder if I should run back to the West with my tail between my legs, maybe I’ve been in this country long enough. Not that I have anything against the people here, they are friendly and happy to have a drink with near enough any stranger who isn’t American and offers to pay. I just despise the way the way the football leagues are run, a bunch of crooks and terrorists who only care about their own financial gain, for every club that is run by a genuinely nice guy there are 10 that are run by oil rich crooks and drug lords. If only I knew that before I came out here, although I suppose everything happens for a reason, I will stay here until I feel fulfilled, or until I‘m dead, whichever comes first. Although on the bright side there are still some pure clubs out there, I dream of the day they call me accepting my application, although it’s been so long since my old Sagem phone has had any action.
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