Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Thursday 17 May 2007

17 May 2007

For a considerable number of Town fans, your Guest Diarist imagines, re-signing Martin Paterson (on any sort of basis) would be akin to a complete stranger approaching you to offer a jar of home-made piccalilli. If such a thing happened you just couldn't wait to get home, tell the missus and make a nice sarnie, could you? The little darling of the Main Stand's dentists has taken his first step towards returning to their ample manly bosoms by getting a new contract offer from Stoke. He would be a fool to turn it down, methinks, but whether he will get near their first team much next season is a matter for conjecture.

Lord Buckley, who has just returned from a fruitless trip to London where he spent a night allegedly looking for a Yorkshire terrier named Gullit, could not be contacted this morning for comment on the Paterson story. Rumours that he intended to ransom the dog's owner for a season-long loan of a suitable teenage striker abound in parts of North East Lincolnshire and the police are taking them seriously, apparently, with officers being diverted to assess whether they can issue a control order. Remember, gentle reader, in the new labour age, as well as the age of the Premier League, intent is an offence. Tom Cruise made a film about it just the other year, and the reason it flopped, possibly, was that they didn't have the wit to cast Lord Buckley in a minor, yet significant role.

Relieved by that news (no, I have no idea which news, my thread being taffled this morning), Town striker Gary Jones has been having a chat to Mariners World. I found this interview to be cosily, dozily, dreamily hypnotic as the big lump caressed his scouse vowels into the microphone. Much was going on in the background - to the point where it became the foreground at one stage - but yes, the Lumpmeister too feels a good start is important. And he says if the defence sorts itself out the attackers will score enough goals. News of Lord Buckley's regime leaked through too: get fit with a ball at your feet; don't slack in training or sulk if you are dropped; come back roughly the same weight you went away. Yes, we have a real manager. And he shall never be sacked again. It's the law.

Speaking of which, the Grimsby Telewag has run a story about Nicky Law. This is notable only for the accompanying photo which shows the evil, ugly man adopting what he feels is the sort of expression one should adopt when cooing over a dying kitten. I'm off in search of a stranger, now. See yer tomorrow.