Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Thursday 5 April 2012

5 April 2012

The purdah continues! John Fenty (Toptown) has not spoken. Well done you. Your dilettante Deviant Diary salutes the maturing cheese. If there's nothing to say, then don't say it.

But where would a Diary be without nothing to say? As thoughts turn to summer frills and frocks, there are still some who believe that the Ayatollah tells a darn good knock-knock joke. Windy Miller can be caught uttering professional platitudes by the half-dozen, to order, just to keep himself awake. Still 15 points to play for, yakkety-yak. Don't look back in anger, I heard you say. There's always next season.

There's nothing for you here. This used to be a decent town with a local shop. Now it's full to the rafters with laughter. On the cutting edge of commercial logic, the club shop has finally gotten around to jumping on a long-passed bandwagon. It's selling Hearn T-shirts, just before his inevitable sale to Barry Fry's Fennish delight. Oh me-o, oh my-o, the crassness makes me cry-o. That's an #eldingfact, not an Elding T-shirt.

The mystery of the missing Makofo has been solved. Or has it? The SNOS® attempts to divert suspicion by posting pictures of peripheral dandies with kids. The man in the hat, they say it's Serge - but where's the smile? Good to know that Town players are still being forced to do the school run, like in them olden days of beige and mud. Wonderful wistful memories of way back when float by my Deviant mind - Booby Mitchell telling me off for scoring a goal "the wrong way". He wore a moustache, you know.

Without any tales of the unexceptional and forgotten, the local paper for local people is reduced, unlike the Mooreman himself, to an insubstantial space filler about sport science. Dave speaks thusly: yeah, amazing, it wasn't as good in the past. Wow, Ryan Giggs! My toast's burning, bye. It's as illuminating as Alan Shearer in a jam jar, but not as crowd-pleasing...

Tinpot despots beware! The latest health scare is that, on average, tall women are in danger of being taller than small men. The Daily Mail is quivering, perhaps having heard the latest 19th-century cure for female hysteria. Remember, manually means once a year.

The past really is a different country.