Today we're going to visit our friend, Glen, who lives in north London, and who has decided to dedicate this weekend to getting drunk and watching football in his favourite pub.
Of course, Tony and me couldn't refuse when Glen asked us if we wanted to join him for the weekend, because (a) drinking beer and watching football is our kind of thing, and (b) we've not got much else to do with our time.
Such 48 hour binges are a must every now and then - especially for people like Tony and me - because the alcohol helps flush the anger out of our systems, and gives us the resolve to carry on in what seems like an endless fight against the pressures of modern-day society.
Tony reckons that weekends were made for football, and he regrets the fact that he never became a professional footballer when he was younger.
I suppose it is a shame that my friend never realised his dream, but then what the hell does he expect?
Tony blames his lack of success on the fact that his ball control was less than perfect, but as we all know, he failed to become another David Beckham because he is VERY fat, he can't run very fast, and he's permanently drunk.
I think Tony disagrees with me, but because we're in a hurry to join Glen, and because I'm always right, we'll probably continue this discussion at another time.