Cod Almighty | Diary

Perambulations, permutations and celebrations

14 April 2023

It's a puzzle, it's a conundrum: where's our Wally?

Well, we've sent your usual Friday funster to a mandatory training day on fact-checking, but your ever-Deviant Diary is here to hand deliver intent-driven conversational experiences at scale.

They've sent me along as a surrogate band and we're gonna find out where you fans of verbose Friday frolics and larks really stand.

Yes, the fishy rumours are true and Bottom of the Barrel Diary has been given an official warning that any less of his nonsense and he'll be replaced by an AI chatbot. Or have we been rumbled and BOTB is an actual, factual algorithmic conceit? That would certainly explain the wayward relationship with your actual facts.

The fact is Town play Mansfield tomorrow. The facts are, despite Rhys Oates and Elliot Hewitt being defensive lynchpin and attacking kingpin, Mansfield have managed to manoeuvre themselves into the play-off zone. How? Must be the manager. Wary Young Nigel's had a final bellyache about wanting no alarms, no surprises and they'll be backed by a full Osmond - as long as they remember to turn left at Lincoln and their muscle memory doesn't take them all the way to Mablethorpe.

Now I'm relieved to hear that you've been to some far out places too. From Bradford to Donnycaster, the Town support has turned into performance art. Refusing to sit down as the ball swung incessantly from high to deep, there were extremes of sweet and sour. You could feel the breath of sadness, the teenagers touched by madness and you found yourself between the ridiculous and the frivolous. It's been a mighty long time since Blundell Park rocked and rolled; as our name gets hotter, the heart goes colder and the Pontoon grows older.

For those still living in older times you can take a trip down memory lane with swooning Scotty and his shirt of destiny. Hiding behind the pay wall of Mariners TV, holding a replica Oster top like a religious relic, the warbling Woodster coaxes warm words from a positively glowing Sir Alan of Buckley. In anticipation of next month's celebration of the 97-98 season at McMenemy's, listen to Sir Alan pass over a young woman berating him for returning and move to the moment when everything clicked once he sorted out Galli after a pre-season hiccup (insert drink-related joke of choice).

About the future, we can only reminisce. Ah nostalgia for an age yet to come, a full summer of sun and signings. Elsewhere in Waltham, Matt Dean lights the blue touch paper on comings and goings to be and stands well back. Big Josh? Just like everyone else we'll have a conversation. Gorgeous George? He's going home for the summer. Orsi-Orsi? He did well…at Luton. Shaun Pearson? No, he won't get to 300 appearances, but he needs to be at this football club.

As he dips into the future, and dips into the cup money, Young Paul sees the vision of a new world and all the wonders that could be. But Mr Albeit's been looking around at what he's already got and been a-pondering who's a proper team member, and it isn't always linked to performance. His mind is clear, just because someone is a character doesn't mean they have character. He likes good eggs.

Hard-boiled. And that's no yolk.