Cod Almighty | Diary

I can hear the grass grow

4 June 2018

Monday morning, is it all you hoped it would be?

Hello out there in the world of wonder that is the bit between the bit just after and the bit before. It is I, your most Deviant of Diaries, returning to fill the void with wiffle and waffle, without any syrup of course. I know it’s not much but it's the best I can do, my gift is this diary and this one’s for you.

Just relax everyone, have a summer siesta. In the olden days of old, fretting about football was for the birds, and not in the Alastair Campbell sense. Confected conflict ain't good for your mojo, matey.

Just look at this this way: there are Town players and there are men who played for Town. There are Town managers and men who managed Town. Paul Hurst is a man who managed Town. We eventually got promoted, he left, now he manages someone else. Shoulders will be shrugged. Let him be a Suffolk punchline, it's nothing to do with us. It’s just a job for Shorty, it’s just business.

One day during the summer our Sheffield Sage will have a chum to chat to. On a few days during the summer, young men previously employed by other football clubs will sign for Town. When these things happen words will be written. Some old, some new, most borrowed and none of them blue (unless Mardy Diary rages in flames from the ashes of angst).

Yeah, nothing happened in the Town world over the weekend and the rest of the sporting world can go hang.

Have a jolly June and then we can have a Jolley time from July.