O Valencia!

With your blood still warm on the ground
Valencia
And I swear to the stars
I'll burn this whole city down

That's The Decemberists, that is. I've spent a large portion of the day in bed today, and am now just about ready to return there again, as part of my bid to recover from a weekend away in Spain's third largest city for the stag do of my good friend Daniel Gray (Hartlepool, 26). After three days of solid alcohol consumption in quite literally a party of twelve male animals, and only two hours' sleep last night due to a criminally timetabled return flight this morning, at present it feels like the effects could be lasting and damaging. I'm sure they won't be though, and the throbbing ache in my right side will disappear eventually. And then I'll be left simply with many fond memories of a fine, fine trip in tremendous company. LADS ON TOUR FFS TBF TBF!!111!1, copyright Matt Kilsby (Bolton, 25).


Literally an animal

It was, in reality, a civilised enough affair characterised by decency in its purest form, and one which didn't feature any of the stereotypical stag-do shenanigi (plural). Apart from the bit where Dan was tied to a lampost and set on fire, which he doesn't even remember. I liked Valencia as a city (it's only when it tries to masquerade as a hamlet that I have qualms), and found its slightly dischevelled looks largely endearing. It's the Falles festival there at the moment, which sees large papier-mâché structures erected throughout the city's different communities and then eventually burnt to the ground. They were all a bit ugly though, and looked like something from Disneyland [photo of Matt Kilsby at Disneyland]. Fit for burning FFS TBF. This all meant the streets were bustling with people, many of whom seemed to spend every waking second setting off fireworks at your feet and making you jump. Wartorn Valencia. I didn't see war's Rageh Omaar (Somalia, 40) though, which is a shame when you think about it. And still a shame when you don't, for that matter.

On Saturday night we went to La Mestalla to take in some top-flight Spanish football in the form of Valencia v Sevilla, which saw the visitors gain a well-deserved 1-2 victory. We sat on high (literally) in the stupendously well-priced €15 seats in the top tier of the steeply-stacked stands which, despite leaving you a huge distance from the pitch, made for quite an awesome (dude) spectacle [photo]. Plus Valencia were really bad and made me feel far better about supporting Middlesbrough. If I'm honest, which I occasionally am, this was about as cultural as the trip got. If you want a full representation of the venture, just imagine this photo stretched (literally) over a 72 hour period. I'm off to bed again - and possibly for a similar period, if they'd let me.