All right, mates? How am I? Don’t ask! What a flippin’ HELL of a week your little mate Craig’s just had! What? Beyond flippin’ belief! Don’t take my word for it, mind. Oh no. Just have a butchers at these excerpts from me diary:
SUNDAY: Barely slept, thanks to all the coffee I drank last night. Flippin’ HECK! Felt tired now I was up. Read the papers – more cuttings for the scrapbook, eh? ‘Bellamy destroys Charlton’. Perfect. Actually, the headline said, ‘Gerrard destroys Charlton,’ which is just typical of these London hacks, but, yet again, I’ll rise above it. If I scored the key goal while Stevie was bound and gagged, stuck in a sack and locked in a box in China, the papers would say: ‘Gerrard, while bound and gagged, stuck in a sack and locked in a box in China, inspires Liverpool win!’ And they’d probably give him a ‘9’ while the rest of us have to make do with flippin’ ‘6’s!!! Absolute CONKERS!!!! Felt quite Christmassy this afternoon. I like Christmas, me. It’s the one time of the year when everyone takes meat really seriously. Proper roasting trays, utensils, an appropriate amount of basting – oh yes, I’m in me element, me. Spent an enjoyable hour or so sharpening me knives while listening to Radio 2. Then some telly – very poor. They seem to let themselves down a bit over Christmas these days. In fact, I may write them a letter about it. First things first, though – I still have that woeful bloke David Dickinson to ‘deal’ with! No time for any of that before the festivities: I’ve got me cooking schedule to map out. Went to bed early – I think yesterday’s exertions were catching up on me. Went out like a flippin’ light.
MONDAY: Training. The Gaffer didn’t need to utilise me expert offside-beating skills today. He just said, ‘Carry the cones and the bibs, please, Craig, then sit and rest your knees’. I’m practically his right hand man! I bet some flippin’ paper will say tomorrow, ‘Steven Gerrard carried all the cones and bibs at Melwood yesterday’. I got more and more angry just thinking about the injustice of it all, until, without realising it, I shouted out loud: FLIPPIN’ HECK!!!!!’ It actually made the Gaffer jump. Right in the middle of one of his ‘you do this, go there, do that…’ sort of talk with all of the tactical hand gestures. He gave me quite a glare. Everyone else seemed to find it terribly funny, sniggering away and pointing at me. It’s pure jealousy, I’m afraid. Went home and sat on the sofa all afternoon, recuperating. Unbelievable thing happened just after I’d finished watching The Paul O’Grady Show: there was this awful shrieking, screeching sound, like someone’s cat was being flippin’ messed about with by a wild boar, coming from just outside the front door. Terrible it was. Shocking. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped and the doorbell rang: Ding-Dong!. Opened the door. It was Lol. The paperboy. I could not believe me flippin’ eyes. He was dressed as a flamin’ choir boy, right, with a white sheet round him and some sort of collar made out of red crinkly paper, and he said: ‘A fiver to sing a carol, mister?’ I was gobsmacked. Absolutely flippin’ gobsmacked. I just stared at him. He said: ‘Or a tenner to go away?’ Oh my giddy aunt! When I could speak I said, ‘Er, actually, you’d better hurry along, mate, because I’ve just checked it out now and I hear that the Funk Soul Brother’s on his way, and he flamin’ hates flippin’ carol singers!’ Absolutely delighted with this! It just came to me like that – sharp as a tack, me! It was all I could do not to laugh! Then this kid goes, ‘Don’t be an idiot, Munchkin Face – the Funk Soul Brother doesn’t exist!’ Right, that did it. I said, ‘Yeah?’ And he said, ‘Yeah!’ So I said, ‘Yeah?’ And he said, ‘Yeah!!’ So I said, ‘Yeah??’ Then before he could say ‘Yeah!’ again I said, ‘YEAH??? Well, in that case, NEITHER DOES FATHER FLIPPIN’ CHRISTMAS!!!’ Oh-oh. That was a bit of a mistake, that. The flippin’ paperboy looked flamin’ shattered. His bottom lip started quivering, his head went down, then he kicked me on the flippin’ ankle and ran off crying, shouting out, ‘I’m going to tell my Dad about you!’ Not again! Flippin’ HECK! I was only trying to rid meself of that pest. Of course Father Christmas exists – who does he think I am, an idiot? Who else drinks the glass of Malibu that I always leave by the flippin’ fireside every flamin’ Christmas Eve? I mean, flippin’ HECK!!! It’s always gone in the flippin’ morning!! Bit anxious now, because Lol’s Dad is even more of a nutter than Lol, and that’s saying something. So I had a chat to meself. I said, ‘Craig, mate, you’d better nip this nonsense in the flippin’ bud’. I agreed with that wholeheartedly. It’s not always the case – sometimes I have a right old argument with meself! It almost ends up in a fight! – but on this occasion I made perfect sense to meself. ‘You’re right, Craig, mate, I should nip this in the bud’. So I drove off to Domino’s, see, and ordered an extra large ultra-hot Meltdown, and took it to Lol’s house as a peace offering. Rang the bell – Ding-Dong-Dong-Ding-Ding! – strange flippin’ tune, I thought – then someone said through the letterbox, ‘Is that Craig Bellamy, the controversial footballer?’ I said, ‘Yes, present and correct’. Then the bedroom window opened up and some bloke shouted out, ‘Happy Christmas, you terroriser of poor innocent choir/paper boys!’ And the next thing I knew I he’d poured a bucket of ice cold water on me flippin’ head! Unbelievable! I said, ‘Oi! I’d got a pizza for the little blighter!’ So the door opens, the kid snatches it and runs back inside, then shouts through the letterbox: ‘Next time, short-arse, hand the pizza over before you get drenched!’. So I’m standing there, right, arms outstretched, incredulous grin on me face, going, ‘Oi! OI!!! Paper boy! How dare you, sir! How DARE you!!!!’ Flamin’ FURIOUS I was! I hope he chokes on the flippin’ pizza! Anyway, whoever heard of a pizza with MUSTARD on? The idiot who thought of THAT wants a slap!! Think I might have a bit of a cold now. Mark my words, though, I’m going to watch me paper deliveries over the festive season like a flippin’ HAWK, me, because if that flamin’ pest makes one more deliberate mistake I’m going to have his guts for garters! Not literally, of course. I don’t even know what that means. I’ll merely demand that the newsagent fines him and issues a suspension. But the point is: he’ll be very, very, very sorry. Heck of a day.
TUESDAY: League Cup tie tonight against Arsenal at Anfield. It was so flippin’ foggy all day I could hardly find the flamin’ ground! There was a hell of a lot of umming and ahhing going on a couple of hours before kick-off. I was curious, naturally, so I went out to see what was what. I heard the ref saying to one of his assistants, ‘We need to send something small and insignificant over to the other side of the pitch so that we can tell how well we can see it’. Sounded a good idea, so I piped up: ‘Oi, ref, mate, can I help?’ He looked at me and said, ‘Yeah, you’ll be perfect, off you go!’ Eh? ‘To the other side of the pitch, Craig’. What the…? With WHAT? ‘Nothing needed, mate, just stand on the other side and we’ll see if we can see you’. That’s what drives me mad about refs – they make no sense at all! Anyway, I humoured him, went over, came back and he said, ‘Good lad, that was very helpful’. Flippin’ buffoon. I’m sure I could hear him laughing with his flippin’ assistant as I was going back down the tunnel. Then an hour later they called the game off!! Unbe-flippin’-lievable! Absolute CONKERS! I’d already got me flippin’ shorts on! Had to do some flippin’ pointless jogging on the pitch, bit of shooting, that sort of doo-dah. Amazingly, Paco still had the nerve to claim I was ‘drifting offside’. I mean, WHAT??? He was lucky that I’m now so good at controlling meself, because this sort of nonsense is really getting on my goat! Got back home at eleven o’flippin’ clock. The missus – who was sitting there in front of the telly, curlers in her hair and a bag of lime creams by her side - goes, ‘Hello, luvver – score any goals?’ WOMEN!!!! They just don’t flippin’ know!!! Took some Lemsip, heated up a wheat bag in the microwave and then went straight to bed in a hell of a mood.
WEDNESDAY: Went downstairs this morning and was absolutely amazed to find that someone had opened today’s window on me Cadbury’s advent calendar and eaten the flippin’ chocolate inside! In a hell of a mood as I cooked the meat. When the missus FINALLY decided to come down, I tackled her about it: ‘Have you seen me latest chocolate from the advent calendar?’ ‘Oh,’ she goes, all casual like, ‘Oh yeah, luvver, I was a bit peckish last night so I had it. That’s handy, that calendar!’ I was flippin’ flamin’ FUMING! I said nothing, though. No point. She’d just sulk for ages. But that flippin’ chocolate! I look forward to that each morning! Flippin’ HECK!!!! Went out to do a signing session at Argos – the catalogue featuring ‘The Craig Bellamy Collection’. It went quite well: 23 people in an hour! Actually, one of them came round three times, so I fear yours truly’s signature will be popping up on eBay in the near future! Then, because I had the time, I had a bit of a natter over the phone with me sole agent and manager Drystan, who’s getting some physiotherapy for his hips in Pontypool. ‘Hello there, boy!,’ he said, all excited like. ‘Have I got news for you, as they say! And I have, boy! The Craig Bellamy juggernaut is steaming ahead, boy!’ I was curious: ‘Is this to do with the steak knives?’ ‘No, boy,’ he said. ‘They’re still being made, boy. All in hand, them. No, boy, this is something new your mate Drystan has set up for you! As from 1st February 2007, Mr Craig Bellamy will be the celebrity face of…Pringles Minis!’ FLIPPIN’ HECK!! I love Pringles, me! ‘Drystan, man, I have to hand it to you, sir, that is flippin’ fantastic news!’ He knew he’d pulled a rabbit out of the hat, old Drystan, and he’d done it with no real functional hips to speak of – incredible achievement! ‘You deserve it, boy! And there’ll be perks, too: a large box of meat-flavoured Pringles Minis EVERY MONTH; a VIP Pass to any Pringles Marketing Event in the UK; an advertising campaign featuring you about ‘good things come in mini sizes’; and a packet of badges/car stickers!’ I was flippin’ well welling up, me! Absolutely first class. I went straight off to ASDA to buy some Pringles Minis. Took them back home and, very nonchalantly, put them on the kitchen table, where the missus was deep into reading her OK magazine. ‘Ooh, Pringles Minis! I like them, luvver!’ I did one of me casual half-smiles, all cool like: ‘Well, luv, you’re in luck then, because you’re looking at the new celebrity face of Pringles Minis!’ She said, ‘Eh? Sarah Jessica Parker?’ ‘No!!’ I said. ‘If you’d stop staring at that flippin’ magazine and that horse-faced minger for one second you’d notice that me, Craig flippin’ Bellamy, is the new celebrity face of Pringles Minis!!’ ‘Oh luvver! You’re so clever! Give us a flippin’ kiss!’ Oh yes, I had a flamin’ good day today, in spite of the chocolate incident.
THURSDAY: Short training session today. They said I didn’t need to train. Excellent! Went back home and watched a new DVD: Talladega Nights. Excellent – one of the most riveting dramas I’ve seen for years! Definitely top notch! Quite moving, actually. Got me really in an emotional state. Went shopping to calm meself down. Bought an ‘It’s Christmas!’ CD today for the parties and all that. Thought I’d run the Bellamy rule of thumb over them. Wizzard: very nice, that, very busy, very bright – reminds me of me, that one. John Lennon: again, very nice, very good, that. The Pogles, or whatever they call themselves: absolutely first class, that, very pleasant indeed. Slade: okay, but I’m a bit fed up with it, to be brutally frank. Greg Lake: I have no idea what the man’s on about, but it’s got tinkly bits and that, so it’s tolerable. Tries way too hard though – a sort of Ronaldo-type song, faffs about, makes a big noise and then collapses. As for Cliff Richard: well, me Mam likes him, so I’ll have to endure it. I saw him on the telly the other day, actually, and I reckon he’s bald. He’s definitely got very funny hair. Something very odd about it. Very odd indeed. If you can imagine an insubstantial umbrella for a pineapple – that sort of thing. He also looks like he survives on salads. Not like the great Sir Tom Jones. Oh no. You look at Sir Tom going about his business and you think, ‘Aye, he knows his cuts of meats, that lad’. Not Sir Cliff. I bet he just sits at his dinner table licking a fancy leaf from Marks and Spencers! It can’t be wise at his age. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the tracks. Chris de Burgh: ‘A Spaceman Came Calling’. Now, it’s embarrassing that he’s a big Liverpool fan, and he’s always hanging around Anfield (the last time he was there he put his hands round me neck and said, ‘I helped Markus Babbel, and I can cure your deformity’! I said, ‘What flippin’ deformity?? How dare you, sir! How DARE you!’), so I have no idea what to say about this…EXCEPT THAT IT MAKES NO SENSE WHATSOEVER!!!!! Why is it even on a Christmas record??? It’s about a flamin’ SPACEMAN!!! Now then: Sir Paul McCartney, ‘Wonderful Christmas Time’ – what a load of CONKERS! What on earth was the man thinking? Made me legs jump it did, and not in a nice way. ‘Simply have a wonderful Christmas time’ – yes, all right, thanks very much, now sing something else! AND GET YOURSELF A FLIPPIN’ TUNE WHILE YOU’RE AT IT!!!!! Couldn’t listen to any more. I was in a right old mood after that. Got home, did this and that, then watched this programme, The Worst Week of My Life – gobsmacking. It was like an AVERAGE week in MY life!! It was so close to home I caught meself checking the room for hidden cameras! Went to bed and, I must admit, I undressed in the dark. Well, you can’t be too careful. Pulled the duvet well over me head and went to sleep.
FRIDAY: Freezing cold. Put on me best brown leather coat – ankle length, very stylish - and went into town to check what’s what with me butcher. Eric – that’s his name – was, as usual, delighted to see me. I got the proper VIP treatment – a tour of the shop, a few tastings, all of that. You could tell a buzz was going round the place because I was there. Good old Eric bent down and said to me: ‘If only we had more like you, Craig, mate!’ Just what me Mam always says! Anyway, we checked on all of me orders, then – a very nice touch, this, typical of Eric – he gave me a special box of quality meat and an enormous pork pie. ‘Compliments of the season, Craig!’ Smashing! Absolutely smashing! Then I went on to Mr Shoes – a new shoe shop I’ve discovered. This is strictly private, which is why I’m only mentioning it in me diary, but, odd though it probably sounds, I sometimes feel a bit…well…on the ‘short’ side. So I was delighted to find this place, because they custom-make what I think you call ‘elevator shoes’. Like Tom Cruise wears! They make you about three inches taller. Perfect! So I’m having a couple of pairs done, like, discreetly. I keep thinking about the first day I wear them at Melwood. You know: Carra looks up, ‘Hey, Craig, you’re TALL!!! How’d you do dat??’ And I’ll say, all nonchalant like, ‘Oh, do I look taller? Really? Oh, it must be me posture. But, honestly, I’ve always been 5’ 7â€.’ That’ll show ‘em! Anyway, the shoes won’t be ready before flippin’ mid-January, so that’s a bit frustrating. Mind you, if they work, I’ll get some boots done, because when they interview me on the telly they make me stand on a box, which is, to be honest, humiliating!
SATURDAY: Match day: Watford at home. Is Elton John still Chairman? Maybe he isn’t. Still, I don’t mind his stuff. He’s quite big in Wales. Always has been. Shocking dresser, though. Absolutely awful. Anyway, I didn’t see him about. Never mind: it’s nearly Christmas! I’m so flippin’ excited I can barely get me kit on in the right order! Tucked me collar in – most uncomfortable, that, a real design error – patted the ‘This Is Anfield’ sign (all right, I stretched at it and didn’t quite connect, but it’s the thought that counts) and ran out on to the pitch. What happened next? Yet another Craig Bellamy flippin’ masterclass!!!! I surprised meself a bit! I was all over the flippin’ place, terrorising them, I was! Like a flamin’ ferret! Got all me tricks going, all of that, the little legs all a blur, and then…I ONLY WENT AND FLIPPIN’ SCORED AGAIN!!!!!!! FLIPPIN’ HECK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Happy Christmas, back of the net!!!!! In fact, your mate Craig won the flippin’ match! I was allowed off to bask in the applause, while poor old Crouchie trudged on, and Xabi got a second, just in case, but the old Bellamy magic worked again!!! Superb! Got home just in time for the Strictly Come Dancing final – the right result, that, and hopefully next year will see me win! Waited up to watch meself on Match of the Day. Guess what? Yes, I dozed off before we came on. Heck of an end to the day!
