The Final Hangover
That cursed ringing, I wish it would stop! I open my eyes and the blinding winter light of Finland greets me, forcing me to squint as I try to find my alarm clock. It is on m bed-side table but so near the far edge that only my finger-tips can touch it. I struggle and strain but to no avail. I close my eyes and give up. "Is it worth the effort of getting up to turn it off?" Almost immediately my prayers are answered as the noice vanishes and with my eyes still closed, I can smell the sweet scent of perfume from my wife, Kate, who stands beside my bed.
I slowly open my eyes and she is staring at me with her deep, blue eyes. She was thirty-eight but she looked no older than twenty-eight. Her face was perfectly chiseled and her golden hair fell down in immaculate locks which she still tries to convince me is natural. Ten years of marriage, ten years of true love. There was love in her eyes but there was something else, something more important now. It was worry.
Kate Johnson: "What are you going to do Nick? You cannot just lye here doing nothing all day, every day. There is a whole world out there, a beautiful world. Why not go out and embrace it?"
Nick Johnson (Me): "Because this mythical world you speak of would not embrace me. I've lived my life, now I'm forty-two and I need a rest."
K: "From what, partying? You used to be so much different, what happened?"
N: "From football, I used to be happy playing football but now my career is over and all I know has abandoned me. What am I supposed to do? I don't know how to do anything else! I'm a hermit I tell you, a damned hermit!!"
K: "Who said you had to leave football? Didn't you get your coaching badges? Why not manage a team? With your playing history, most every team here in Finland would be delighted to hire you!"
N: "I would hardly call playing for Leeds, Newcastle and Aston Villa an outstanding career. You are right, though, I will think about it after this."
K: "After what?"
*Nick grabs Kate and pulls her towards the bed and in a flurry of limbs, they begin to make sweet, tender love.*
embrace finland you hermit 
