Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Monday 15 October 2007

15 October 2007

With Mr Normal Diary wandering this noble land like a hirsute Caine, reflections and ruminations upon the day after the day after the night before are brought to you via the psychedelic secateurs of Deviant Diary.

It's a legal fact that to donate to the Conservative party you are insane, and it's therefore illegal.

Monday morning feels so bad, ev'rybody seems to nag Buckley. At least in the lonely mini-bars of life that are nesbitboards they do. Ah, you see Monday we've still got Friday on our minds. It's a question of perspective, isn't it. Remember this time last year Beagrie, Butler, Thorpe and Ravenhill were in the team. And we're still the pride of fourth division Lincolnshire after the suppository of ancient mariners failed again, live and exclusively on Murdochvision. BFS on Murdochvision - the true axis of evil.

Alan Buckley's been wandering the football land like a unhirsute Mr Normal Diary searching for that elusive butterfly that stings like a bee. Sire, we have news: an unnamed striker named Martin Butler is speaking with the Little Buddha of Blundell Park. The unnamed Martin Butler is helpfully, and pointedly, referred to by the SNOS as someone who, unlike our less than fab four, "certainly knows where the goal is". He's 33, so this cat may not be as fast as lightning, but we could do with his expert timing. Lincoln are interested in him too, as they want to add some teenage zest to their forward line.

We can finally burn that Bridges rumour as he's retiring from professional sport to have a few beers: destination Australia with Sydney FC, not Sydney Rec. Still, it won't stop someone, somewhere moaning cos he hasn't signed for Town. "Kno ambishun Twon!"

Let's continue with pyrotechnics and burn those weekend blues by sailing away from the choppy seas of the state of Town towards an island of happy, smiling people. Bosh is a girl, for missing Friday's shindig. Oh no, Bosh had a girl, or should I say, Bosh's wife had a girl. Ah, a spurious and wayward leap of logic that allows another chance to wheel out some Norwegian Wood. You can never see Knut Anders Fostervold falling over enough, I say. Sometimes we nee do smile.

The flies are dying, it's time for some vacuum cleaning.