Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Thursday 29 March 2007

29 March 2007

After yesterday's special Guest Diary, the big black hole created by Mr Diary's unexpected walk from the tent will be dug even deeper by me, that is I, Deviant Diary and my three little droogs: speculation, made-up facts, and a mouse called Gerald

Mmm, special Guest Diary curry sauce and chips. I'm hungry.

With just 50 English hours to go before the big showdown for 13th place, each camp is quiet. It's probably down to interbreeding. With no news and no idea, we'll waste your employers' time and ours with idle speculation concerning Ciaran Toner's possible post-summer perambulations. The recently adequate midfielder is claimed to have already promised our cousins Notts County that he wants their babies or something. He must have a thing for empty seats; now that we're filling them it's messing with his mind, and he needs the comfort of a backdrop of black plastic and moaning. Given that the propagator of these thoughts claims that Toner has recently had "a prominent role behind the strikers" while playing on the left of a five-man midfield, you can make your own mind up about its veracity, verisimilitude or vermicelli. You're not getting a link, 'cos it's a rubbish site of made-up nonsense and old hats. Our hats are new.

From something that hasn't happened to something that always does: the Pontins Hellhole Subterranean Homesick Blues League (eastern) league leaders. Yes, leaders of a league. The mixed-up Myspace Men and Motors Mariners stripped two layers of skin off alleged local rivals Happy-Slappy Scunny yesterday with goals from Grand and Hegggggggggggggarty. The lovable OS mangles-a-long like Livvo on a tightrope. It's fascinating, horrific and beautiful all at the same time. "Baraclough almost equalised," reports the site, at a point during the match where the score was 0-0. They forget that Baraclough was actually, factually a Town player once but remember Butler's loan in the dark ages and some bloke called Lycett. Someone could write a thesis on Town trialists, real and imagined.

No-one would write a thesis on Jermaine Palmer's Grimsby Town career, cos there wasn't one. He's now a gas fitter in Halesowen, having resigned from his job knitting cardigans. He fitted three boilers on his first day. Well done Jermaine! And Luton's Michael O'Really is injured again, like we care, or remember.

So then, last night - do anything interesting? Or did you watch our representatives of the national game? Whose idea was it to put Malcolm McClaren in charge? Guest Diary was moved to muse that the wrong Macca's random platitude generator unexpectedly stopped working about a minute into his press conference last night, forcing him to leave the room abruptly, thus proving he's a smiling robot. Personally I think one of the journalists hit on that 1960s sci-fi wheeze to befuddle evil androids and computers.

"Steve, Steve - one question... W.H.Y.?"

At which point eyes roll, machines shake and steam inexplicably shoots out of every orifice. Much like Wayne Rooney in an England shirt.

Let's get back to real football for real people. That reminds me, where's that pledge got to? And will Blyth Spartans fans outnumber us on our own site and petition? Greek Town fan Nicktmesis Meaney is a man who, like the wrong Macca, demands quality balls. "Not to be nit-flippin'-picking, but a short journey "eastwards to Meadow Lane", as mentioned in Monday's Diary, would entail an abso-bleedin'-lutely huge detour via Yerp, Russia, China etc. My recommendation? Go west young man, or south-ish west-ish for the shortest route to Notts." We can assure all our stakeholders that executive action had already been taken. Mr Normal Diary has been sent on a directional reorientation course and will not return until he works out Nicky Law from his elbow.

There's so much more you need to know, but you'll just have to tune in tomorrow to see what happens. The Diary is a jigsaw and this is just a curly bit between the sky and the land, near a bush and boat.