Great away win for the bums tonight, with a 1-0 victory over Chesterfield. Billy the Fish banged in a goal in the 13th minute, elevating Scunny to ninth place. Dizzy heights indeed.

Already, Wrinkly Paddy clamours at my door: When are we going?

I don’t know. Ask Wrinkly Joe. He’s the adult.

Meanwhile, a number of clubs further down the table engage in that well-known pursuit of the downtrodden. What does one do at the bottom of a league table? Of course. One languishes. I’m trying hard to think of another situation where anybody might languish, but I’m hard pressed to think of an example. I don’t even know what languishing would involve, or if it would be hard work. I don’t think it has anything directly to do with anguish, though no doubt there is a certain amount of that involved too.

It’s a bit like having a heart attack. You know, there you are, having a pint in your favourite dump, when unexpectedly your friend Brendan arrives back from Bali.

Howya Brendan. I thought you were supposed to be in Bali?

I was, but Festy died suddenly and we had to bring his body home.

Oh that’s terrible, Brendan. What happened him?

He had a massive heart attack.

Did you ever hear of anyone dying from a small heart attack? Nobody ever says that, do they? It’s always a massive fucking heart attack.

I hear they’re burying Martin O’Peenissa today.

Go ‘way outa that! Martin O’Peenissa, dead? What happened him?

Tiny heart attack. They say he never knew a thing about it.

That’s right. Martin always was very thick. Pint?


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