Dear Diary……

The last visit of parental TLFs saw them accompanied by seven boxes of ‘treasured items from TLF’s youth’ or ‘seven boxes of crap cluttering up the dining room,’ depending on whether you reside in the TLF camp or the Mr TLF camp.

I am carefully working my way through each box…well I’ve done one so far which covered the 2-10 years old phase. It proved an entertaining and sometimes emotional (soppy fox) experience. And while it will never live up to being something ‘sensational to read on the train’ a la Oscar Wilde, young TLF’s 1978 diary offered up a few mis-spelt clues as to how things might pan out in the decades to come:

January 14
Leicester did a darw with Bristol.
I think Leicester should of of won.

February 11
I got some football cards.

February 25
I played football. I got some football cards.

February 26
I stuck my football cards in my book.

March 12
I watched Arsenal Wrexham.

Easter was a big week that year. Nevermind the 8 Easter eggs……First bit of Shakespeare and my first ever Leicester game:

March 23
We went to Stratfford to see Midsummer Night’s drem.
It was good.

March 25
I got David Webb’s autograph at football match.
Leicester Man. Utd 3-2

You get the gist. Critical analysis wasn’t top of the agenda but YTLF was clearly attuned to how footballing life was largely going to pan out; the notes section is recorded the news, “Leicester are bottom for more than 6 weeks running.

Applying YTLF’s lense 39 years later (eek!) and last week looked a bit like this:

I watched the FA Cup drawer. St Albans got Carlial.
Paul Ince looked sad. David James was smiley.
It was good.

Leicester beat Copenhagan. I listened it on the radio. I was scared and hid under the duvet.
It was good.

Last night I went to a posh dinner. It was good. I drank a lot and went to bed at 2.45am. I was at work 6 hours later. That wasn’t very good.

Pepys Fox


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You remember.
Those little fizzy sweets – pink, yellow and green discs of sugar. (And malic acid. And sodium bicarbonate. And E470b. And natural flavourings. So that’s ok then). Everywhere when I were a cub, which I do accept was awhile back. Now they take a whole lot more tracking down – the shelves in Tesco (not a Unilever related absence as far as I am are)), WH Smith, Sainsburys and Co-op are Refresher free zones. You need a specialist sweet shop these days.

Or a football pitch.

Goalkeeper kit designers have plumbed new depths this season, reaching an unexpected new nadir on the fluorescent pigment front, with the kit allocated to Gosport Borough’s man between the sticks. He looked, as Donna pointed out, like a packet of the aforementioned sweet comestibles. Clad in hi-comedy, hi-vis design it is generally essential to either have a sense of humour (he did, as his banter with the crowd evidenced). Or be able to play a bit, which he could, as he kept his team in it for long periods and also made a penalty save late in the second half.

Gosport's keeper

Gosport’s keeper

A packet of Refreshers

A packet of Refreshers

Fortunately for us he couldn’t keep out Sam Merson’s 92nd minute winner. Cue raucous celebrations on the terraces. SWEET.

Heroes on the pitch and off – as TLF snaffled the tub of Cadbury’s miniature Heroes in the raffle.


So that’s all bon bon then (BOOMBOOM!)

Confectionery Fox

Match stats:
St. Albans City 2 Gosport Borough 1
Attendance: 787
Consumption: 1 German beer from the bar & one can Carlsberg from the beer fridge. John F queried whether it was appropriate for TLF to be wielding a missile but I promised if I did throw it I would ‘throw it like a girl.’ That seemed to appease him, although he obviously didn’t hear the end of the sentence that included the words ‘javelin thrower.’ Of and bacon fries of course.
Raffle tickets – 9 losers and 1 BIG WINNER

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The Importance of Being Earnest

I like to think that the Worthing manager did his best Lady Bracknell impression in the changing rooms after the game against St Albans. I don’t mean he indulged in a bit of cross dressing – although if he wants to that’s none of TLF’s business. Rather he looked at his players and informed them that,”to lose by one goal Mr Worthings, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose by six looks like carelessness.”

Of course he probably didn’t. He may well not be wild about Wilde (BOOMBOOM!) and also after a bit of a spanking from a team admittedly one league above you, theatrical related badinage is probably not top of your average manager’s to do list. And also he only had only player in his squad called Jack so that would have made the whole you-play-for-Worthing-and-that’s-one-of-the-characters-in-the-play riff a bit thin. Expect of course for all we know they all do pretend to be called Ernest when they come up to the City, just like the play. And before you think that is like a thin thing on a thin day singing “I’m so very thin “, it should also be noted that the denouement of said play does take place in Hertfordshire so it is almost all falling into place now. Well in my special TLF head at least.

But if the Worthing manager wasn’t Lady Bracknell then who was? Ray was in with a shout. His reaction to the reflection by TLF and Julie that Ian Rogers would be the ideal practical person to be stuck on a desert island with contained suitable levels of derision…anyone would have thought we had just owned up to being left in a handbag at a left luggage department at a railway terminus. We were merely noting that Ian’s addition of a small torch to his evening match apparel was a wise one as you can’t see nuffink in the inner sanctum that is the away turnstiles. Ray however has experienced Ian pre-torch days and a short and witty anecdote ensured regarding the search for a lost set of car keys late at night illuminated by the headlights of Ray’s daughter’s car…The story was of course told with typically Clarence Park bonhomie, wit and affection which isn’t quite Lady B’s thang. Although such is her lack of faith in the male gender that she may well have been nodding in approval at Ray’s exhortations to a St Albans side, 4-0 up, to “Not throw it away now.”

They didn’t of course and the gaffer’s (FA) Cup did therefore runneth over and on his birthday too. He was greeted in the clubhouse by a relatively tuneful rendition of Happy Birthday which went down well. He was also greeted by an earnest looking ex-player who had decided during the summer to depart the finery of Clarence Park for a Tudor shilling. Whether his appearance was a welcome birthday gift or not remains to be seen.

While I think the gaffer probably has an encyclopaedia of put downs, TLF is too scared to suggest there is anything remotely Bracknellesque about Ian Allison. Instead my final nominee must be Gary if only for his response to the TLF post-match beverage of choice. “A half! To order or at any rate drink a half, whether it was Stella or not, seems to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life that reminds one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution.” Well it sounded a bit like that and in any case I’d rather drink half a Stella than be found in a handbag.

“A Handbag!?”
Repeat ad nauseam

Oscar Fox

Match stats
St Albans City 6 Worthing 0
Attendance: 678
Snackage: Quavers. WTF!? It’s all gone a bit cheesy on the deep fried snack front. Suitable customer feedback was shared. Also some pretty good chips. My one-TLF boycott of the new snack wagon could only last so long – stomach will always win the war of attrition against principles.
Alcohol consumption: Two bottles of the German stuff and a yes. Alright. A half of Stella
Countless unwise purchases of raffle and goalden goal tickets.

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There be Dragons

Football does funny things to a TLF.

But you know that.

Champions League football however takes it to a whole new different level.  It is new and shiny. It is, let’s face it, likely to be a rare occurrence. Can’t think of anything else that would entice TLF to part with even more hard-earned pounds on a return train trip to Lesta (distance from St Albans approx 80 miles) than had been spent on a return trip to Bruges (distance from St Albans approx 203 miles). Don’t get me wrong, it was a very nice train complete with, for comedy purposes, a Portugese train manager who turned out to be a Porto fan who wished all the Lesta fans good luck for the evening as they would “need it against his team”, but am not sure that this vaguely amusing sideshow quite justifies East Midlands Trains peak travel fares.

Still nothing could have come between TLF and the chance to hear that Champions League music at Filbert Way. I know that Manchester City fans enjoy booing that anthem but they probably have sufficient confidence that they will get the opportunity to do that on a season by season basis. For us Premier League peasants, however, who have experienced the slings and arrows of outrageous footballing fortune, we are going to embrace every single fairy tale moment.

The only downside to be honest in all of this is Uefa.  TLF is reliably informed that Uefa stands for Union of European Football Associations. That though is the sanitised and shortened version. It actually it stands for “up-their-own-backsides-money-obssessed-sponsor-loving-bunch-of-effing-killjoys”.

All clubs participating in the Champions League receive a 155 page manual advising on requirements for the privilege of hosting the games. And so we kiss goodbye to any beer being available in the ground, our stadium is re-named for the evening, Filbert Fox (if he is allowed out as he needs to be a similar size to a ‘normal person’) is subject to a dress code (which must include a hole in his shirt for his tail), the pitch has to be mown in a certain way, the Club needs ato invest in a measuring stick to ensure that all player escorts (that’s the kids that walk on the pitch with the players  not ladies of the night) are between the required  1.05 metres and 1.35 metres tall and don’t get me started on what should and should not be in the referee’s dressing room or how many free parking spaces Uefa require (180 as it turns out – I’m not sure we have that many in total). All of sudden TLF is starting to get in touch with her inner Nigel Farage. I probably never had one; but I do now.

Some things however remain beyond the reach of this beaucratic and bloated machine. The digestive delight that is the Red Leicester cheese and sausage roll remains on sale, the grins on our faces at the idea that we are yet again experiencing history after so many dark days cannot be wiped from our faces and despite the best attempts of an erratic referee and the desire to play so deep for the last 20 minutes that our defence might has well have been sitting in the stand behind our goal, Lesta City squeak a 1-0 victory.

Lesta City. Currently top of their Champions League Group. Pure fantasy.

Skint but happy Fox


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A mug’s game

Technically last Satday it was Lesta’s turn. Okay I know I had seen them during the week but that was abroad. And Filbert Way has not yet been graced with the TLF presence this season. And the Mighty Saints were playing in the far east. Not ‘abroad’ far east; just Norfolk.

There were however grim realities weighing heavy on the TLF brow that morning. First it was time to face up to the fact that sometimes the F in TLF should probably stand for the F in Old Fart. Recovery times have increased significantly and TLF was experiencing a severe bout of PTBD – post trip to Bruges disorder. Plus Mr TLF was on the brink of asking whether I was a squatter or a burglar. Time to hunker down and do the domestic bliss thing.

DBT does of course mean, apart from spending quality time with my life partner, that there are choices to be made – full media blackout until final score OR following via the wireless and the twitter, which TLF has almost scientifically proven is unlucky. There is of course a third way – ignore Lesta and concentrate on regular Saints updates via tweets from roving reporter Julie – speedy, witty, biased and generating just the right level of Satday afternoon twitter badinage amongst other Saints absentees.

Unbeknownst to TLF there was a fourth way via the medium of Mr TLF. This is a new and relatively user friendly mode of communication; although it doesn’t seem possible to switch it on or off. It either happens or it doesn’t and you are not in control of your subscription. It is however quick and effective – a hand will appear around the door with a thumb up – this means things are going well for Lesta. This will be followed by the raising of a digit which will indicate the current number of goals scored by the Foxes. Very handy (BOOMBOOM!). The scorer of the goal may also be stated from behind the door. Or perhaps just any old Lesta player and not the goalscorer at all (cue TLF singing homage to man making assist rather than man hitting back of net).

There does seem to be a variation in service depending on the team and the progress of the game. West Ham’s travails at West Brom were reported vocally and mournfully and the TLF response of “Against West Brom! But they have been pants this season,” was probably not my best ever contribution to DBT.

Amends were made via cooking, non-mentioning of the aforementioned unmentionable result for the unhappy Hammers; especially not when compared with the success of both my Cities and also TLF taking seriously the request that Sunday morning tea should NOT be served in the usual mug of choice. I can’t believe how seriously he takes these things. I mean for goodness sake. It’s only a game. Next he’ll be telling me he’s got a lucky shirt that he only washes if his team loses.

Absence making the heart grow fonder Fox

The mug faces an uncertain future.

The mug faces an uncertain future.

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In Bruges

“Maybe that’s what hell is: the entire rest of eternity spent in fu#kin’ Bruges.”
Ray (Colin Farrell) from the film, In Bruges.

It is fair to say that Ray the rookie hitman did not take to Bruges and TLF has helpfully identified a number of crucial areas where a different approach might have meant he enjoyed it that little bit more:

The right send off
You see when TLF departed these shores on her maiden-champions-league-no-really-TLF-is-going-to-watch-Lesta-abroad-and-has-bored-everyone-witless-about-it-all-week voyage, a poet Laureate waved her off. Didn’t know he was a Lesta fan did you?

Sir John shows his true colours

Sir John shows his true colours

The right lucky T-shirt
With the 4-1 spanking by Liverpool the blue polo shirt had finally been condemned to the washing basket. Good for all those in close proximity to TLF as it hadn’t been washed since after that defeat to Arsenal on 14th February (actually that’s worse than I thought). Ray to my knowledge did not allocate a t-shirt to Bruges. Mind you TLF wasn’t totally on form in this area herself; choosing a white shirt might prove to have been an error depending on how results go…..

Of course if Ray did have a lucky t-shirt (and I have only seen the film once so I wouldn’t like to call it either way) it probably wasn’t a replica away shirt from the 1960s. If he had worn that then he would have enjoyed quality banter with some Lesta fans enjoying a drink on their hotel terrace while TLF queued for a barge tour of Bruges. The very same fans whom a bit later he would bump into again in a fine establishment, just off the main square which was purveying a fine range of Belgian beers (although if he bought the coconut one I can understand his general grumpiness as it wasn’t great) and share further banter and good chat.

Mind you I suppose if they had christened him, “the girl on the boat,” like they did me that might have been a bit of a sticking point in their relationship.

The right mode of transport
To my knowledge at no point in the film does Ray eschew (BOOM!) the organised, police escorted 80 minute march to the ground (quite good fun by all accounts) in favour of a lift from the new friends met in the bar (see above). Now that’s where the action was. They, you see have VIP tickets, and it is amazing how much fun you can have in a foreign cab, with two blokes you have only just met (steady!), when their VIP tickets have to be collected from the ground. Because no politie (such a good word for the officers of the law) will believe the VIP ‘story’and so will send the cab on some circuitous route to another checkpoint where this time the politie does believe the ‘story’ but sends us back the way we came to yet more unimpressed politie. There was a moment when we were all genuinely worried that we would never arrive but beer-induced hysteria took over and we entertained ourselves with considering the standard of the Belgian prison cell we were likely to end up in and whether starvation would cause us to kill Nick for his apple – he must have known, why else take a complementary apple from your hotel to a football match!?

I am guessing Ray might have enjoyed the small international incident that was caused when we finally alighted from our cab and it became very clear that the politie were not delighted to see TLF, most definitely not a VIP and resplendent in Lesta colours loitering in what was definitely NOT the away fan end.

The right seat
I doubt Ray would have got a good seat. Bizarrely TLF was the posh bit (that’s all relative at Club Brugge), separated from the rest of the Blue Army by a complete stand. But we did have access to their supporters club bar – not that different to the Saints bar really. And the stewards were all old boys and absolutely lovely – dishing out team sheets destined for the media (sat behind us), to us hoi polloi like there was no tomorrow. Ray might have liked the people I was sat with though – there was a manic ‘we’ve been drinking all day but we are too happy to be fighty and was that really the Champions League anthem we just heard’ kind of a vibe going on.

The right song
Maybe Ray isn’t one for a chant. But I am sure he couldn’t have resisted the charms of the new version of Jamie Vardy’s having a party which went along the lines of:
Keith Vaz is having a party
Bring your poppers and your Charlie!

The right result
Even if everything above hadn’t gone to plan then surely a “pinch me I am still dreaming moment” as you witness your team mark their champions league debut with a win 3-0 means that” the entire rest of eternity spent in fu#kin’ Bruges” is maybe what heaven is.

……Mr TLF isn’t a fan of Bruges either. He says it’s a bit dull. Dunno what he means.

Jan Breydel Fox

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And finally.
Good things come to the TLF that waits.
Escape from the FFZ. Not that it was all bad you understand; certainly Sunday’s hangover was testament to the very good wedding that kept me away from non-league football day at Clarence Park (great crowd, rubbish result).
Tuesday 6 September had arrived, the Mighty Saints were playing at home and TLF had a skool nite pass. It needed something special for this momentous breaking of the football duck.

And there he was. In the club shop. Moodily silent. Stood slightly aloof from everyone; not joining in with the badinage (and there is a LOT of badinage available in the shop area). Alluring, sturdy and very, very cool. It was love at first sight.

Oh yes. The lager fridge had arrived.

Je t'aime

Je t’aime

Now that might not seem very momentous but when Thameslink ‘Technical Faults R UsTrains’ had conspired to prevent TLF from witnessing the opening goal (scored just as I came through the turnstiles) then an ice cold beer within paws reach is a welcome slight. Especially when accompanied by a sausage roll the two retailed at a bargain five of your earth pounds.

Suitably refreshed, things were looking up. The next goal was witnessed by yours truly and then it was back to hang out with Mr Fridge at half time. It was then I came across his quieter but no less attractive mate, Mr Tracksuit Top. What happened after we were introduced has to stay between me, him and our resident shop keeper but, “NO Mr TLF I assure you there is nothing new in the wardrobe.” (I’ve hidden it in my study).

In the second half it became clear that it isn’t just goals that are missing from the FFZ, it is the quality terrace chat. The reassuring shouts to a player who has just missed a sitter, “Good try son. Come on head up. Go again!” are quickly followed, sotto voce by, “How the eff did he miss that!?” And who knew that an innocent TLF cycle helmet resting on the terrace could be a source of such entertainment. But I don’t want to spoil you. Just think reference to a grazed helmet in a medical context and let your imagination do the rest.

Some slick forward passing and a ridiculous amount of added on time later (well it was ridiculous until we scored in it) and the Mighty Saints were 4-0 winners and third in the League. It’s good to be back.

Strangely enough the Thameslink late train compensation claim form I have doesn’t make any reference to compensation for missing home goals OR missing Julie’s debut as a turnstile operator. I can only assume that is a misprint and I shall be putting in for suitable recompense.

Where there’s blame there’s a claim Fox

Match stats
St Albans City 4 Poole Town 0
Attendance: 485
Nutritional refuelling: 2 bottles Carslberg, 1 sausage roll (maybe it will be lucky to NOT eat bacon fries this season)
Raffle tickets: 10 losers.
Golden goal: NONE because I was late
Time sat staring at broken down train at City Thameslink Station and get a bit angry: 40 minutes

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On the right track

Technically life in the FFZ (you should know what that is by now) is no laughing matter. But when the latest glitch in the sporting diary is down to being in Edinburgh for the Fringe…well that’s pretty funny.

We weren’t completely football free. As any fule kno, the reason you get your credit card to bleed as it pays for a hotel on the Royal Mile is not so you can luxuriate in top class surroundings while being at the very heart of this iconic City. Noooo, it’s to ensure high quality wifi as you follow the Champions League draw on your iPad. I know. We should have been out seeing the next big thing (actually while I’m about it, can I recommend Matt Winning? Maybe not the biggest next best thing on the comedy circuit but close). TLF should not have been indoors rocking backwards and forwards saying, “Please let us get FC Brugge…Pleeeeease” and getting excited about foreign destinations. But this is new territory for a TLF. The lesser spotted Lesta fan is not used to international travel.

Neither here nor there was exactly how we felt on our way home (I think that might be my first lame segue of the season. Marvellous.), as unlike the speedy Corbyn Special on the way up to Scotland the journey back on the 13:00 from Edinburgh Waverley was coming in at just under 5 hours. Both the Mighty Saints and Lesta were of course playing at home (as seems to be traditional when TLF is north of the border) and having experienced sticky internet connections before TLF sought refuge in the relative safety of ‘no news is good news’ and opted for the lucky media blackout.

Which worked.

BOOM! Lesta get their first win of the season.

BOOM! The Mighty Saints continue their excellent start to the season.

As far as Virgin East Coast are concerned our itinerary looked like this:

14:26 Newcastle  – Howay Pet. TLF should just be getting in her first Stella.

14.39 Durham – Just like St Albans – they’ve got a cathedral. The theoretical Stella would be half consumed.

14.57 Darlington – Just like son of Darlo’s Vic Reeeves, the teams are having a big day out (I know; that one’s a stretch).

15.09 Northallerton – No me neither, but a TLF wouldn’t need to be a genius to spot no one has scored.

15.31 York – YES Min(i)ster!! Theo’s on fire! 1-0 to the Mighty Saints

15.55 Doncaster – Nearish to Sheffield where Jamie Vardy was born. And yes it is 1-0 to Lesta now as well.

16.09 Retford – Where!? But who cares Theo is still on fire! 2-0 Saints.

16.51 Peterborough – It’s the train track where it all happens. Saints have scored and conceded. Lesta have scored, conceded and missed a penalty.

17.44 London King’s Cross – Well TLF isn’t. She’s happy; wins for both her Cities.

If only the journey took as long as it did to type…..

Being a Champions League virgin the last 6 days have made TLF realise that it doesn’t matter how close you follow the group stage draw – chances of getting away match tickets are pretty slim…the joke’s on TLF.

Not-as-International-as-she’d-like-to-be Fox

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Lear of the Rovers

The second weekend of being a FFZ (football free zone) arrives. A double tragedy as it coincides with King Lear (BOOM!) This lack of football is starting to addle the TLF little grey cells or else it was a very odd production…

King Lear, multi-billionaire owner of WSFC (William Shakespeare Football Club) decides to abdicate and divide ownership of his club between his three daughters. When the youngest, Cordelia, refuses to make a public declaration of her love for those live betting adverts of which ITV and SKY are so fond (especially the Ray Winstone ones), she is disinherited and married to Claudio Ranieri without a dowry. The veteran kit man , Eddie Kent defends her and is banished to the Sunday League. The two elder daughters, Goneril and Regan, inherit the club.

Long term but overly superstitious team coach, Gloucester, deceived by his record breaking summer signing, prima donna Edmundio, disinherits his home-grown and loyal club captain Edgar, who is forced to go into hiding to save his life. Lear, now stripped of his power, quarrels with Goneril and Regan about the club’s league position and the conditions of his corporate box and standards of hospitality offered to him and his entourage. In a rage, he goes out into the stormy night, accompanied by his Fool and Kent, now disguised as a St John’s ambulance volunteer. They encounter Edgar, disguised as an escaped club mascot. Gloucester goes to help Lear but is betrayed by Edmundio and captured by Regan and her husband, who as a punishment, put out his eyes. And then as if that wasn’t enough, dress him in Hemel kit.

Lear is taken secretly to the non-league ground of Dover City, where Cordelia has landed with a Blue Army. The blind Gloucester meets – but doesn’t recognise – Edgar, who leads him to Dover. Lear and Cordelia are reconciled but in the ensuing cup tie, are arrested by the sisters’s forces for public disorder acts.

Goneril and Regan are in love with Edmundio, who encourages them both. Discovering this Goneril’s husband forces Edmundio to defend himself against the charge of a failed drugs test. A disguised Edgar arrives to challenge Edmundio to a game of keepy-uppy and after spanking thr backside of his fancy-smancy ‘they-come-over-here’ opponent, reveals himself. Before killing himself for the shame of being beaten by a limited but full of heart English professional, Edmundio reveals that he has ordered a lifetime stadium and travel ban for Lear and Cordelia. He attempts to reprieve the order but it is too late. They are forever condemned to watch Celebrity Big Brother.

PLP Possibly losing the plot (BOOM!) Fox

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Remember when Sir Gary of Lineker tweeted about presenting MOTD in his pants if Lesta won the League?

Well actually there was a bit of a cover up (BOOM!) and the full tweet said:

“I’ll present MOTD in my pants if Lesta win the League….and then they lose on the opening day of the season to newly promoted and rather bereft Hull and then just as TLF thinks things can’t get any worse the Mighty Saints lose 3-0 away at Bath.” I will admit that is a few more than the acceptable 140 characters but either way that is what he meant.

TLF was of course, not exactly delighted by this news….but it was sketchy news as TLF was in the signal free zone that is Cropredy and Mr TLF’s updates were a little light on specifics par example, “Your team on telly. Oh dear. Things not good.” Clearly having a vivid imagination and having imbibed then TLF’s thoughts are not of conceding a goal but more like the team coach has been abducted by aliens or it’s just been announced that the entire population was on a massive acid trip last season and Lesta didn’t win the Prem at all – Tipsy TL’s need specifics

Bad news, even when its not quite clear how bad is always that bit more palatable when you’re in the sun with a beer, sitting watching a weekend of cracking music (Madness!, Ralph McTell!, Hayseed Dixie! Fairport! Other bands dear reader that you may not have heard of but take it from TLF most of them were great!), another beer, a cheese cob made by your mum (the best cheese cob in the whole world obvs), another beer and even a packet of bacon fries. As Ralph McTell didn’t say in the follow up to his massive (and only hit) The Streets of London,

“Have you seen the TLF,
In a field near Banbury,
Desperate for news on Twitter,
About her football team.
She’s no time for talking,
About Lesta humiliation,
Things gettin worse,
As St Albans concede.

But how can TLF tell you she is grummmmpppppy
And say for her that the sun don’t shine?
Let me take you by the paw and lead you through the fields of Cropredy,
I’ll show you something to make you change your mind.

Have you seen the TLF,
Sitting in a field in Cropredy,
Sun shining, and with good company.
She’s lots of time for talking,
Might be what she’s drinking.
Hope she’s wearing factor 50,
Or she’ll have a red nose.”

And as it turned out he didn’t mean pants. He meant a rather lame pair of white shorts. The nation deserved better….Or maybe that was better?

McTell Fox

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