I NEVER GET SHOTGUN

Third game of the season, and what are the chances of having three actual football results rather than crazy schoolboy scores. Well this one was 0-0. Another good performance by the defence (unlike the friendlies) and too few shots on target again. To be fair Kings Of Leon had an excellent shot saved by the comedy terrorist but deserved to be booked for his Klinsmannesque acrobatics in the box. Talking of Klinsmann, the Kaiser's goal celebrations were a tad premature as his goal was ruled out for offside. Much huffing and protest ensued, but the referee's decision is final. What's missing is some ruthlessness in front of goal.

Anyway - team:



What other news you cry? None.

Disappointing albums #1. Franz Ferdinand - You Could Have It So blah blah blah

Bored of being homeless. Bored of looking at flats. Even more bored of estate agents. Are they all complete nobs? The one on Saturday turned up 15 minutes late, having not prepared because he didn't have a load of keys, with his regulation mid 20s estate agent haircut and driving an H-reg Porsche. Not a good look.

SCIENCE AND PROGRESS

The posts here have gone from the mindless ramblings I had hoped to bring the immortal few who would come here, to actual real life stories. For that I can only apologise. House difficulties have arisen over the last few weeks, from being one day away from signing papers to having to start all over again after pullingout myself of buying this place. Of course I am bitter. The seller is an absolute arse and the place he was selling was a complete shithole. I will buy a better flat with monkey butlers and a fireman's pole down the middle. A young Bill Murray and Dan Aykroyd will be my neighbours and we will have hilarious adventures.

Second game on Sunday. A glorious 3-1 win. Again only 11 men as the Bernies were at Reeksy's wedding. Team was:



This is the start of a good season, perhaps. No whining, team playing together as one. Good goals. Hurrah.

B-b-b-b-bennie & The Jets.

THE CHINAMAN IS NOT THE ISSUE

What can I say? What can I say? Sunday's football was a strange affair. Bickering, only 11 men showed and an alarming lack of shots on goal. In the end we lost 1-0.

Team was:


But let us not dwell on that. Let us dwell on this.

Who knows what will happen. I for one will not. It's not that I don't know, it's just that I've forgotten.

Homeless for nineteen days and counting.

PERHAPS YOU'D LIKE TO COME BY AND MOW MY LAWN

The last of the friendlies was last night. Of course we won 7-5, a disastrous defending first half with mid field and defence at sixes and sevens with the long ball. The team for last night was as follows:



We wore the black kits for the first time since their airing in Bratislava. Looking like vicars, we strode out onto the hallowed plastic turf.

Previous unreported friendlies were a 4-4 draw and a 5-1 victory. First game on Sunday. What will the team be? Only the gaffer knows, and even he'll leave it until the last minute.

The turnout is expected to be high. Many players now have wives and some actually have friends. Many questions will also be asked. Will Bernie turn up mashed? Will Andy have cut The Cock? Does Paul have a thing for Brazilian boys? Find out next week.