I told Jean that if she actually had any Claris Cliff , well she wouldn’t have any Claris Cliff because I’d now be jumping up and down on it from a great sodding height.

 Jean said that I wasn’t really annoyed with her at all, that I was actually still annoyed with the bloke from number three for mistaking me for someone else yesterday.

 As I said to her. I am annoyed at that as well but that’s not the point. I’m MOSTLY annoyed at the fact that the chances of me getting my hands on another  recording of that match is about as likely as me actually being or even looking remotely like the drummer from Steeleye Span.

Can’t help wondering if the bloke from number three had realised his mistake earlier if I’d still be up on the sodding roof, waiting for Jean to come home from her Mothers , to throw my tablets up to me. That would have made an afternoon in Kirkby Stephen spent with the Fire Brigade look like a bastard breeze wouldn’t it?

I’m going to phone Marty Beswick in the morning. His crowd can do the sodding chimney. Bernie Fatwa reckons Bessie’s made a right bucket of money since Bessie gave the game up. They reckon Bessie’s got a mod cons house in Malaga now and the house automatically phones you up over here, if someone as much goes near it.

Mind you Bernie should know, he had a  loony ‘bit on the side,’ in
Barnsley once years ago, who used to threaten to phone his wife up everytime he’d been near her front entry . She did sometimes as well. I used to say to him “Bernie , your bit of fluff speaks to your wife more often than you do.”

Bernie reckons he read a few weeks back that she got banged–up for attacking a bloke in Pontefract with a Kirby Cleaner.

A place I’ve never been to Pontefract.

Jean told me off for going up on the roof on my own yesterday. Told me not to go up again on my own in case I had one my funny turns.

Went up on the roof again and had a funny turn. 

The fella from number 3 saw me and clocked what was up. Brought up some air sickness tablets . Not sure if it was the act of a genius or the act of a man wearing slippers when he should be in shoes. I thought to myself, I won the Third Division Championship once and I’m on the roof having a funny turn, and a bloke I don’t know is giving me tablets.

Gary Monks wife phoned right in the middle of Midsomer. I’ve told Joan not to answer it if it doesn’t suit but she can’t bloody help herself, always bangs on about that Sheila woman from the old shop who left it ringing and it was her husband who’d superglued himself to a Ford Fiesta in Kirkby Stephen during half-day closing.

As I said to her, well it’s not gonna be that again is it

Gary’s back on the looney juice again. No suprise there then.

Creosote the fence and re-point the chimney apparently. I said to her, “ Is this the same woman who said she’d always support me in everything I wanted to do in the game? ”

Jean said it wasn’t and  pointed out (and fair do’s to her to be fair) that that was my first wife who said that.

Need to put me brain in gear a bit more. I mean bloody hell eh, she’ll be thinking I don’t love her if I say something else like that again.  Have to watch myself. Worried about it all day .Completely distracted ,which is probably why  I creosoted the chimney.

Which didn’t help matters really.

That’s what happens when your not working, you get the old brain damp.

Just heard on the local radio that Charlie Fearn got the
Carlisle job. He couldn’t play the game never mind manage. I remember him years ago  running over a cat on the way to training.