Now I know how to shut my dimwit boy Charlie up.
Bring him to a match like that. Even he couldn’t think of anything stupid to say about a game where nothing happened.
We lose 3-0 to the top team at home then win 3-0 against the bottom team at home. So where are we going to end up? Half-way, that’s where.
I got back to the radio and Atkins was waffling on about summat or other but he was lucky, he stayed awake. Blimey, I nearly had to sit down yesterday, I was dropping off. And me arthritis was playing up so I even stopped telling Atkins what to do.
But never mind I told Majeski what to do instead. The old git was talking to his posh friends afterwards and I had a quiet word about why he sacked Brian McDermott but he said he didn’t.
I think he’d had a few too many bottles of London Pride so I bought him a cappuccino and told him he ought to not dribble in front of Mrs Satsuma when she comes back.
It’s hard work, you know. I help that idiot Atkins on the pitch and sort out the drunken old fool of a chairman off it.
But that’s not all. I’ve now got to ring Radio Berkshire and have a word with Tim Dellors. Did you hear that idiot? He said by the end of the season we’d not only be playing Antony Ferdinand in defence but we’d have his brother Rico too.
How many stupid things can one person say?
URZZZZZZ