Cod Almighty | Diary

Who the hell is Dave?

24 January 2023

Selling a business and avoiding the tax? Where have we heard that before? Same old same old, eh.

Do you dream of cordless freedom? We're not far from a time when people will think wires are weird. When? Perhaps tomorrow, you never know.

Sorry, went a bit James Burke there, though your faithful late substitute space-filling Professor Deviant O'Diary has always had Michael Rodd's hair in mind. And on the top of his head. Look, if Roly Godfrey won't take his coat off now I'm not changing my hairstyle.

So, Crawley tonight? Hold on, hold on soldier. Have you heard the news? You'd better stay home and do as you're told. Yet another game lost to the elements; what, is it 1963 all over again? Hang on, it's the modern age of moderness – This Should Not Happen. We must rage! Ban it! Lock 'em up. Sort it Stockwits!

The internutters loosed the snakes in their heads and suffered them to lap the sulphurous waters as these fickle Furies were Harrogutted at the weekend. Boo, something, boo. And tonight, Mathew, they shall make up some paranoid cobblers with a long and winding whinge that somehow leads to our yoghurt-reading Guardian-eating owner's colossal front door.

What shall we do to fill the empty spaces in their heads and lives? Shrug your shoulders, raise an eyebrow and chuckle; it’s how we used to get along in the olden days. Go on, try it.

And then I realised... like I was shot... like I was shot with a diamond... a diamond bullet right through my forehead…there's a question Matt Dean has never asked: what colour is his front door? Chairman Wow's always banging on about transparency, but he's keeping that secret. We want answers. NOW!

It's got to be orange, obviously.

With all this space we could spend time wringing our hands with those busted flushes down the road. But what is there to say? Egos of the rich and infamous always deflate and damage the powerless proles. There's nothing new there, it's a trite rehash of an old, old story. Just the names and the numbers change. The rusted Irons flew too high for too long. We've got our black and white knights in shining armour, one day their prince may come. Good luck, old boys, we can't lie about your chances of survival, but you do have our sympathy.

Hey, it's another week free of any angst, another week freed up to seek out the elusive pimpernel that will transform us from toppers of the bottom, to bottomers of the middle. It's called ambishun. What's all this malarkey about Toby? Noise.

Go on, turn off your mind, relax and float downstream for we're a long time gone. When we finally get together, when we finally have some sunny southern weather, let's find a place somewhere to laugh, to separate the wheat from the chaff.

It makes me wonder what's going on under the ground. Do you know, don't you wonder? We have all been here before.