I received an email yesterday afternoon from Sky Bet. Not being a regular gambler, I would normally mark such correspondence as ‘spam’, deleting it from my inbox. However, in this instance I opened it. Inside was some waffle about a new online game I could play on my iPad. Blah blah blah. I read on. After lots of guff, I was informed I had a free £5 bet to use on this new game. Despite not knowing anything about it, I downloaded the application from the App Store and entered the promotional code for my free bet.

Having launched the application, I stared blankly at the game. It meant nothing to me. All I could see were some cartoons of jungle animals and strange symbols. The only button which looked like it did anything was one labelled ‘spin’. I pressed it. After a few flashes on screen and a roar of a lion, I was told I had won £41.25. Blimey. It felt like I had mugged an old aged pensioner. Considering Rupert Murdoch owns part of Sky, I suppose in a way I did.

Surely making over forty pounds is harder than that? I quickly deposited the money into my bank account. There was, however more of my free bet remaining. Again, I had no idea what to do, so I pressed ‘spin’ again. After another bizarre animal noise and onscreen animation, I was told I had won £14. This time I had taken candy from a baby – £14 worth of candy to be precise. Before the online police could catch me, I moved my latest winnings into my bank, before returning to the game for more money making enjoyment. This was getting fun. Alas, my free bets ran out. I had, however made £55 from Sky.

To celebrate me screwing over Rupert the Bear, I went to Bristol with Simon and John. Simon invited his friend along. He supports Tottenham Hotspur.

The first stop was Nandos where I had an adequate meal. Not shit. Not that nice either. Nandos is always good, but my chicken was a bit dry. Simon complained that I took too long eating it. I prefer to chew my food and not devour it whole, like a duck eating bread. The way Simon and John moaned about my speed of consumption, you would have thought I had taken a month to eat my chicken. While I ate my meal, and my friends moaned, the Spurs supporter sat quietly, presumably worrying about the future of Gareth Bale.

We left Nandos shortly after, although Simon and John would tell you that it was hours later, before driving to Showcase cinema. There is a Vue right next to Nandos, but that is overpriced and often overcrowded with smelly Bristolians.

It had already been decided we would go to see The Worlds End. I had no objections, so did what I was told and paid for my ticket. Simon had snuck a couple of bottles of Sheppy’s cider into the cinema. Considering they sell alcohol at the snack bar, I didn’t think there was anything morally wrong with this. It was just that we were getting a far superior drink for a greatly reduced price. Simon and I had two bottles between us, and had drank all but a few drops before the film even started. A stupid advert with David Beckham drinking espresso and wandering around in just his pants is enough to turn anyone to drink.

The film was OK. It had Simon Pegg and his fat mate in it. I forget the fat man’s name. I could look on IMDB for it, but meh. If you’re that interested, and you’re probably not, you can look for yourself… I just remembered… Nick Frost.

I thought the film was going to be primarily about a load of middle-aged men going on a pub crawl, with predictably hilarious results. It started off that way and yes, I found it rather funny. Then things got a bit weird and robots got involved, some sci-fi shit happened and I got bored.

My review of The Worlds End in just five words… “It was not Hot Fuzz.”

Cleethorpes Beach. The Worlds End.

On Friday I blogged about the fucking brilliant news that Ken Bates had left Leeds United. This morning I read the hilarious news that he had been sacked. I was lying in bed at the time, reading it on my iPhone. So amused by the story, I nearly wet the bed. According to the report, he was relieved of his “honorary president duties” for ordering himself a private jet costing £500k. Apparently he may now to sue us. Bring it on, I say. Leeds United’s managing director, David Haigh is a trained lawyer. Of course, if the matter can’t be settled in court, there’s always The Jeremy Kyle Show.

“Pull my finger”