All right, mates? You had a heck of a week, eh? I can sympathise - because I have had an even WORSE week than that! Your mate Craig has had one ruddy HECK of a flippin' week! What? Oh, yeah! Don't get me started. Absolute heck of a week, me! If you don't believe me, just take a look at me diary:
SUNDAY: Had a bit of a barney with the missus because she started tickling me when I was trying to get the meat in the oven. That’s not some sort of saucy euphemism, by the way: I really was trying to get the actual meat in the actual oven. Anyway, the missus often tickles me – she says it’s so she can see me ‘cute’ smile. I don’t normally mind, but on this particular occasion I almost dropped the flippin’ meat cos I was laughing so much, so I admit I shouted quite loudly at her to flippin’ well stop. That made her say something to the effect that I deserved another slap – which I thought was uncalled for – and she went off in a right old strop. It was just a storm in a tea cup, though: she was tickling me again a bit later, and I was happy to let her, even though, to be honest, I ended up feeling a bit on the sick side. Drystan, me sole agent and manager, phoned up after dinner with some very sound advice, I thought. ‘Now you need to think on, boy,’ he said, ‘now you’re rehabilitated and that. You need to think about your image more, boy. Try coming up with one of them fancy goal celebration doo-dahs. That’d be a start, boy!’ I have to say he’s right. I feel a bit self-conscious, me, when I celebrate, and that’s why I tend just to run to the corner, do a little bit of a leap and go, ‘Flippin’ HECK!!!’ But Drystan’s on to something, I must say. I’m starting to wonder about drawing a big ‘M’ sign with me finger, like Zorro does his ‘Z’. I could do an ‘M’ for ‘MEAT’ – the power of meat. It’d be quite easy, and it’d look dramatic – up, down, up, down – and you’d certainly remember it. ‘Think on,’ as me Dad always says. That’s definitely worth thinking about, that.
MONDAY: Flew out early to Istanbul with the rest of the squad. Bit worried because there wasn’t time for the meat to cool down completely before the missus packed me sandwiches up, so I offered one to Crouchie to see if he was all right after eating it. Not only was he all right, he kept on asking for more! ‘Where do you get your meat from, Craig, mate? That’s the business, that meat!’ I spent the best part of the flight giving Crouchie a bit of an education on what, exactly, top class meat is all about; some of the lads were listening in, so I felt quite chuffed, actually, with an audience gathered round, like. Made me feel quite important. Then we arrived at the hotel. Very nice, very plush, but, to be frank, the staff were all over the flippin’ shop. I was sharing a room with Crouchie, right? So what did they have ready in our room? A 9-foot-long bed and a flippin’ flamin’ COT!!!!!! I am not joking. Really! I mean, how dare they?!? How DARE they?!?! I went back down into the lobby, and just stood there, arms outstretched, incredulous grin on me face, and shouted: ‘Oi!! OI!!!! Hotel Manager!!!’ Flamin’ disgrace! Anyway, went back to the room, and Crouchie was already flippin’ asleep. I don’t know what that boy does with his time, I really don’t, but he seems to be able to nod off just like that. I can’t. I’m a worrier, me. Whenever I shut me eyes I get thoughts - the old brain is flippin' buzzing! I lay there and flamin’ well toss and turn, me. So there I was, thinking, sighing, turning over, thinking again, sighing again, turning over. Then, of course, Crouchie started to snore. HECK of a day, HECK of a night!
TUESDAY: The match. Me up front with Robbie Fowler. Fan-flippin’-tastic! ‘Aye-aye, Robbie, I said, ‘let’s get the movement going – I’ll draw the left back or right back out towards the wing, you nip into the space, I’ll do me clever little criss-cross step-overs and then slot the ball across, you stick it in, and, er, maybe vice-versa if you ever fancy it!’ Robbie nodded and said, ‘Don’t get caught offside, Craig’. Yup, he trusts me, does Robbie. Oh yes! A good partnership in the making, I reckon. I wasn’t that happy, to be honest, about us wearing all white – it’s not the best choice for me build – but I rose above the problem. I also wasn’t that happy when there wasn’t any goat sacrifice – I’d read that they did that sort of malarkey here, and had been really looking forward to it. I’d hoped it might turn into some sort of barbecue sort of thing, you know: ‘Here, sahib, please eat a bit of our roasted meat,’ that sort of thing. But there wasn’t any animal anywhere to be seen. A major let-down, that, quite frankly. I mean, you often see at least a cat at places like West Ham. Anyway, what happened when the match started? A bit of Bellamy magic, that’s what: I got it on the left, drew the right back out towards the wing, Robbie ran into the space, I crossed it and Robbie scored! Fan-flippin’-tastic!! Then Alonso went and flippin’ flamin’ gifted them an equaliser! Then a flukey toe-poke made it two! Absolute flippin’ madness! Of course, your mate Craig kept on at it, forcing a couple of lucky saves from their keeper, and then, as I pointed out to that whistle-flippin’-happy ref, I started being victimised by one of his flamin’ incompetent linesmen, who wouldn’t know what was flippin’ offside if it was written on a bit of paper and shoved up his ARSE! Then I was taken off for Crouchie (!) and the excitement was well and truly over for all concerned. Oh well, I think I showed all them Turkers who were watching what little Craig is all about – flippin’ magic! I got lost afterwards, thanks to a flippin' idiot security bloke who led me into a flippin' office and put out a message on the PA for me parents to come and get me. Flamin' TOOL! Then I had to stand and wait for the coach to come back and get me. Everyone else seemed to find this HUGELY amusing. Not your mate Craig, though. I found it all very tiresome.
WEDNESDAY: Flew back home. I had jumpy legs, don’t know why, but it looked like I was doing one of them riverdance thingummyjigs sitting down. Crouchie wanted to know more about the different cuts of meat; I think I’ve got a bit of a disciple there. First Dirk, now Pete! It’s another reason why I’m really warming to that ‘M’ goal celebration idea. I can just hear John Motson saying, ‘Oh I say, Lawro, that’s quite extraordinary! Heh-Heh-Heh! I fancy that the controversial footballer Craig Bellamy has quite possibly come up with an exciting new goal celebration!’ Oh yes, this is really promising, this idea. Back home in the evening to…flippin’ flamin’ nagging from the missus! ‘Hello, luvver, we’re fresh out of milk, bread, eggs, Domestos and toilet rolls – any chance of popping out to Tesco’s?’ Yes, that’s what I thought – how can anyone let themselves run out of flippin’ toilet rolls?!? She’s done next to flippin’ nothing all day apart from women’s things and wotnot, while me, a professional flippin’ footballer, has been flying all the way from flamin’ TURKEY with jumping legs! I said, ‘Whatever’. Kept it really cool, there, very short and sharp, like. That showed her. Actually, Tesco’s wasn’t that busy, so it turned out okay, and the missus was very grateful, I must say – she got me a nice warm glass of Malibu. Me legs were still jumping though after I’d gone up to bed, so it was a bit of a difficult night. The flippin’ duvet was going up and down like flamin’ billy-ho.
THURSDAY: Right, today was meant to be the day I finally debunked one or two myths about yours truly, but it didn’t quite go according to plan. I had this idea, see, to take a reporter and a cameraman from Sky Sports News alongside me into an empty room. Because you know that stupid claim some people make about me being able to start an argument in an empty room? Well, I’m sick of it. Well and truly sick of it. So, now I’ve cleared me name in court, I wanted to PROVE to the world that I wouldn’t start an argument in an empty room. But to do that I obviously needed witnesses. So I rented an empty room, right, and the three of us turned up, set the camera and microphone up, then I sat down on me own, as nice as pie, see, and just waited until I’d shown how long I could go without starting an argument in an empty room. A minute went past – nothing at all happened – then another minute…then another…and then this reporter bloke pipes up and says, ‘Er, Craig, mate – can I ask a question?’ It wasn’t what I wanted, to be honest, but I was determined to keep the atmosphere sweet, so I said, ‘Yeah, okay, if you must’. So he says, ‘Well, Craig, the thing is: you want to prove that you wouldn’t start an argument in an empty room, right?’ I sighed, but in what I hoped was a nice tolerant way. ‘Yes. And your point is?’ He said, ‘Well, you know…this isn’t an empty room, is it – because we’re in here as well as you’. Then the cameraman pipes up and all: ‘Yeah, Craig, mate – no offence, like, but, well, this is a room with three people in it. It’s not empty, mate!’ Sometimes, I really do feel like I’m surrounded by idiots! I said, ‘Look, right: this IS an empty room – I rented it on that understanding! I’ve got it written down here on this official bit of paper: “We can confirm that this is an empty roomâ€. See? Now you, you flippin’ hack, you just shut up and watch! And your mate - you, there, with the camera - you can just keep quiet and flippin’ film!!!’ Then this flippin’ reporter goes, ‘I don’t think I like your tone, Craig’. I said, ‘And I don’t like your flippin’ NOSE, you big-nosed flippin…er…BIG NOSE!!’ Then it all kicked off, didn’t it: bad language, punches, broken camera… Absolute flippin’ chaos. The reporter went out of the empty room with his microphone tied round his flippin’ neck, cuts and bruises on his stupid face, all sorts. The cameraman ran out with his broken camera, screaming like a flippin’ girl: ‘You’ve hurt me! You’ve hurt me!’ That did it. I went out and shouted: ‘How dare you! How dare you sir! You have ruined my ingenious attempt to show how peaceful I can be in an empty room! How DARE you!’ I was so flippin’ ANGRY!! I just stood there, right, arms outstretched, incredulous grin on me face, saying: ‘Oi! OI!!! MEDIA!!!!’ Absolute CONKERS!
FRIDAY: No sooner had I had me breakfast, there was someone at the door: Ding-Dong The gas man. 8.30am and the gas man turns up. He was completely out of breath this bloke. Puffing and panting like billy-ho he was. I thought he was ill. He stood there, all stooped like, wheezing away, going: ‘Hhhuuh-Hhhuuh-Hhhuuh’. So I said, ‘Er, how do. Can I help you, mate?’ He said, ‘Good morning,’ he said, ‘I’m from your local gas board. Hhhuuh-Hhhuuh-Hhhuuh’. I said, ‘You’re winded, aren’t you? Are you winded?’ He said, ‘Yeah, so would you be after doing 400 meters!’ I felt like smashing his flippin’ face in! Everyone THINKS they’re a flippin’ comedian these days. I reckon he was put up to it by that flippin' flamin' PEST of a paperboy, Lol, because, as I realised a bit later, we're all electricity, us. Then the post came – and I could not believe me flippin’ eyes! Among the mail was this A4 envelope; I opened it up and found a signed picture of that absolute tool David Dickinson! I’d written him a letter last week, short and sweet, pointing out some basic faults with his new show. And he sends me back a flippin’ picture with this accompanying letter:
Dear Colin,
Thank you very much for your kind words about my show. Please find
the signed picture of yours truly – and remember: keep it safe, it may be
worth something some day!
All the best,
David Dickinson
C/o Cheap As Chips Productions,
Mahogany Avenue,
Manchester
M44 5JJ
What on EARTH goes on inside that pinstriped buffoon’s flippin’ head? I don’t think he even READ me letter! This is not finished. Oh no. Not by a long chalk. Anyway, I had a flick through the TV Quick a bit later, and guess what movie’s on over the weekend? Yes – flippin’ Zorro! That’s an omen, that is! Prepare for the sign of the ‘M’!!! Flippin’ HECK!!!
SATURDAY: Match Day: Fulham at home. Yet again, I was flippin’ flamin’ on fire! First half I was toying with them. Abso-flippin'-lutely toying with 'em, me! Second half, helped set up a penalty for Stevie Gerrard, who fluffed it and then, rather greedily, scored from the rebound when it was really nearer to flippin’ me! Then, while all the defenders were chasing after yours truly, Carra nicked one and then, when I did another flippin’ superb bit of movement, Luis got a header on target. Job pretty much done, the Gaffer subbed me so I could get a bit of an ovation. One more goal from Gonzalez and it’s all over: 4-flippin’ nil! The usual joker had scratched me car after the game, but I went home quite happy all the same. Watched Strictly Come Dancing with the missus – I don’t like that rugby bloke Matt Dawson one flippin’ bit, he looks like a flippin’ caveman! And not any old caveman either, but a BALD, jug-eared, flamin’ pug-ugly caveman! - then, thanks to the missus, I endured An Audience with Lionel Richie – what a load of CONKERS that was! – then waited for Match of the Day. Yet again, we were on so flamin’ late I dozed off before we came on and woke up half way through Jaws 2, which gave me a flamin' terrible fright. Flippin’ HECK of a finish to the day!
