Cod Almighty | Diary

Weaker than the weakest blue

2 July 2021

Hello, BOTB Diary here.

It's no surprise that recent diaries have read like they have been written by someone sitting under a tree, sipping a Pimms and eating a bourbon. In recent years July has been the best month to be a Town fan; usually unbeaten between June and August, we look forward to watching a bunch of players we hadn't heard of two months earlier, all of whom are now guaranteed to be the next Messy Lionel. News, when it comes at all, usually arrives in a tractor and smells of summer. Ooh, we have a new assistant groundsman. The new away shirt looks nice. Someone in the office has had a birthday party and Steve Wraith received a letter from 1982 asking for their hair back. The fan survey made the wholly unexpected discovery that people want better food and toilets. In short, the fish are jumping, and the cotton is high.

Luckily I'm about to break the spell by having a pop at everyone and everything, because it just wouldn't be ointment if it didn't have a fly in it. Although to be honest there seems to be worse things you could have in ointment than a fly. Urine, for example, or chilli oil. Custard.

So, where to start? England are playing Ukraine tomorrow. Being a Town fan, I'm always braced for a counterpunch to the chops when it comes to football, and I fully expect us to lose because of the Germany "whahey get in there" excitements and stuff backlash.

Interesting that I call England "us". I am English of course but when the TV camera pick out Prince William and Ed Sheeran in the crowd after we score, I wonder if I shouldn't be cheering for the plucky Danes. If our country is best represented by a pointless, privileged puppet and a talentless droner who looks like a temporarily animated scarecrow in a borrowed shirt then I'm out. It wasn't all bad, mind. Comedian Rob Beckett was there with his posh showbiz mate, and David Beckham at least has something to do with football. I've no objection to the camera showing them, despite the slight smell of "we got tickets because we are special" that hangs over the celebrity gawking scenario.

Mind you, the fact that we still have a Royal Family reveals the British to be a bunch of cowering cap-doffing sycophants anyway, so most people probably loved it. "I applied for tickets but I didn't get any because Ed Sheeran wanted one! Good for him! I know my place! Even that little bemused posh lad got one, even though he'd rather have been watching Paw Patrol, because he's got special blue blood! Gawd bless 'im!"

Look, I know you want me to mention this, but we finished bottom. It doesn't matter what Swindon do or don't do.

Now, imagine a summer hedgerow. In this hedge is a nest of baby blackbirds. All cute and feathery and cheeping like crazy! Then a big scythe comes through and chops their heads off. Unless you're a potential serial killer, you probably find that a highly distasteful image. Well, if you flail hedges in the summer, decapitated baby birds is what you are producing. So don't do it. Why am I mentioning this? Because at Grimsby Town's Cheapside training facility the roadside hedge has been flailed in the middle of the nesting season. Not only is this illegal and immoral, it also looks awful.

Now, I'm not accusing anyone. It might have been the council. It might have been a rogue contractor. The club might have been as frustrated as I am. But it doesn't look good. I'm all about the civic pride, and that isn't a good advertisement for it. Not that many Grimbarians would give a rat's ass of course, but I do, and my carers let me write a diary, so there it is.

Right, does anyone else want some? My dander's right up now. Bring on John Fenty. Bring on Tony Adams. Bring on Jeremy Clarkson. Release... the crackheads!

Next week: Nick Drake