Cod Almighty | Diary

I’ll get me coat

29 January 2020

Well, there's nothing like a scabby, scrappy win over the worst team in the league and a pleasantly bland post-match interview to keep a waspish diary from the doors of "Ollie™" perception.

Your devilishly Deviant Diary had his acid keyboard primed, chomping quinoa bars at a vegan café on the outskirts of some swanky city, ready to rail against simple minded motivational speaker psycho-babbling whipping the mob into a mania. What next, a monorail? Is that all there is to the Pied Piper of the Pontoon? With his flat caps, glamour and easy charm, together with an anecdote a day about work, rest and play, Town aren't a football club, they're a Fast Show Sketch. "Today Colin, I shall be mostly be talking about maaaaaattresses".

Self-belief? I can do it, I can do it, I can do it, I can do it, I can really move from my head down to my blue suede shoes. Isn't it? The Rubettes, 1973? Marvellous.

But, hey, Scorchio! Town won, and the cake of good hope was topped off with the Wolds Panther recreating Kevin Donovan's Craven Cottage dribble wizardry. Stevenage? Sod off back to where you belong. Nasty and useless. It took them six seconds to break The Hess in half. We await news after he was last seen being wheeled into an ambulance, strapped to the stretcher like Hannibal Lecter.

Ah, speaking of acid: Town's first half tactics. Is Marcus Bignot back in the building and playing avant-garde jazz in the dressing room jacuzzi? No more of that nonsense please.

Ah, speaking of nonsense your normal match reporter will get around to recording events using words you'd never find in the Bible once he's finished work, cooked dinner (haddock tart with Scarborough potatoes) and stopped tutting at defending a corner with only McKeown in the Town penalty area.

We say normal, we of course mean usual match reporter. Barry Whittleton's normal reporting of the Creepy Crawley calamity has just gone live. What took so long? Either he couldn't stop tutting or he had a particularly complicated dinner party to curate over the weekend.

The signing of Elliott Grandin from the Death in Paradise Premier League is imminently to be confirmed. He's French. "Ollie™" hasn't been here long enough to know that for whatever role he'll play you could get any woman off the street to do better, John.

Scarborough potatoes? Pre-cooked, sliced or chunked, then butter fried in parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme of course. Mmm, as tasty as a Benson cross-field pinger.