Cod Almighty | Diary

Love in the time of Covid

20 December 2021

Things have come to a pretty pass, the resuscitated romance is growing flat. Was Hurst, were we, gullible in attempting to retrieve the sunken treasure of this shipwreck?

Yes, it's week eight of series two of the Rise and Fall and Fall and Rise of the House of Hurst, with the lowlands of Lincolnshire descending into interminable internecine borefare as numbers numb the soul. We've lost nine in ten: Hursts out! We've only got 14 players left, get a grip, get a sense of perspective! Play the long game, we're all dead in the long run.

It must get better in the long run with yesterday's men hanging on today.

Wouldn't it be nice to get on with your neighbours. How's Big Scanz' lumbago?
You know it seems the more we talk about it, it only makes it worse.

Your Deviant Diary eschewed the foggy, soggy delights of Stockport. Hoping for the best, expecting the worst and ending up with a sensational corned beef hash for tea. A pinch of paprika is the hot tip for a tasty teatime treat. Oh dear, that football thing. Well, was it really football in the time of Covid as Town made a hash of it?

You'll need a heart of stone not to be moved by The Short One’s post-match interview, for poor Paul looked and sounded broken and bereft after Covid dissolved the best laid plans of mice and men. But where there is despair there is also hope for loveable lumpy Lennie's rogue red card to be overturned!

And so our FA Trophy dreams die another day for another year. What's another year between friends? Or two Town fans. Oh what a mental quandary, a veritable Escher drawing of the mad Mariner mind, with those happy to be rid of tin-pottery© also furious at losing again. Poor lads and lasses, trapped on the Mobius strip of mental discomfort that results from holding two conflicting beliefs. Are they happy or sad? Are they both? Are they only happy when they're mad?

With the local rag's imported hack stoking the ire at the direness, we're left with nothing but a hollowed-out husk of borrowed boys and broken men as Boreham Wood approach. Or do they? They only had 13 players for their FA Trophy game.
Goodness knows what the end will be. Oh I don't know where we're at, it looks as if the next two games will never be. Something must be done!

Eee-ther, either, nee-ther, neither. Let's call the whole thing off.

Macbeth shall never vanquished be, until Great Boreham Wood to high on the hills shall come against him! Shame for les miserables that it's been cancelled then.

Now, as it's Christmas let's have a little quiz: were Les Garçons sur la Plage the French Beach Boys or their version of Baywatch?

Now, as it's Christmas let's have a little homily from the Gospel according to Paul:
Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true. Now that would be nice.

Stay frosty, stay safe, let's stay together.