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: What can I say? What a heck of a day this was! Not only did we lose, but we also lost to THEM. Heck of a day. Went home and tried to play with me pet calf, but he wasn't up to it. Limping like billy-ho, he was. Didn't want to watch any telly in the evening so the missus got in a DVD instead: Diagnosis Murder - the pilot edition. Cheered me up a bit, as only Dick Van Dyke can in a doctor's outfit. I watched all the 'special features,' too, including 'Spotlight on Van Dyke,' 'Dick's Personal History of the Soft Shoe Shuffle' and 'TV Doctor-Detectives: A Quinn Martin Overview...In Colour'. All fascinating stuff - very educational AND entertaining. Then I went straight to bed. Flippin fed up.
MONDAY: Oh, ye gods, what a HECK of a day! The Gaffer had us in for a pep talk. I stood in between Crouch's legs and added my few pennies worth, which clearly had every one thinking very hard, because they all went off in silence. In fact they all went off WHILE I was adding my few pennies worth, which shows how quickly I make an impact. Aye, the truth hurts. Then, in the afternoon, just when I was looking forward to some quality time in front of the telly – Diagnosis Murder, Murder She Wrote, Countdown, Deal Or No Deal, the list goes on - the missus insisted we go to her flippin’ flamin’ foghorn-voiced cousin Barry Scott’s place for dinner. I still can’t quite believe what I saw there. Everywhere was FILTHY – the kitchen, the lounge, the dining room, the lav, everywhere! The missus was kickin’ me on the ankle under the table (which was also flippin' filthy) to keep me quiet, but eventually I just couldn’t stop meself from saying: ‘Barry, mate, er, have you not got any of your own Cillit Bang here?’ ‘WHAT? OF COURSE I HAVE! I’VE GOT CRATES AND CRATES OF IT IN THE GARAGE! I GET IT FREE! AS MUCH AS I WANT!!!’ He was shouting well enough, I’ll give him that. ‘Well, then, Barry, why is everything so, well, er…dirty?’ ‘I CLEAN WHEN I’M ON OFFICIAL CILLIT BANG DUTY, CRAIG! I DON’T CLEAN FOR FREE! YOU DON’T PLAY FOOTBALL IN THE GARDEN AFTER A MATCH DO YOU? WELL, I DON’T CLEAN!’ (Actually, of course, I do go for a kickabout in the garden – it’s very relaxing, and I never get whistled offside – but I let the point go.) ‘But Barry, lad, me plate smells of fish’. ‘SO????’ ‘Well, we’re having meat’. ‘SO I HAD FISH LAST WEEK – THE SMELL WON’T HURT!!!!’ I was practically gagging! Then he brought in the dessert: a bowl of strawberry Angel Delight. And THAT smelled of fish, too! Shocking, it was. Then things went from bad to worse. ‘HAVE I EVER SHOWN YOU TWO MY FAMOUS PENNY TRICK?’ Oh my flippin’ God! ‘Er, yes, you-‘ ‘NO? REALLY? WOW! YOU ARE GOING TO BE AMAZED THEN! I’LL GO AND GET THE CILLIT BANG!!’ Oh, heck, it went on for ever – dirty penny, clean penny, dirty penny, clean penny. ‘SEE???? DO YOU SEE???? LOOK AT MY PENNY!!! LOOK AT IT!!!!!’ I tell you, I could not get away fast enough, and, of course, me and the missus had a right old barney on the way back. ‘I don’t know why you’re so against him, luvver’. ‘Oh no? Right, then, where shall I start? He shouts so loud me ears get blown back, he lives in a flippin’ tip, he talks about nothing except Cillit flamin’ Bang and he keeps doing that flippin’ flamin’ penny trick – which, incidentally, doesn’t really work!! IT JUST MAKES THE FLIPPIN’ FLAMIN’ PENNY SMELL!!!!!!!!’ ‘It’s just his way, luvver’. ‘JUST HIS FLIPPIN’ “WAY� WELL, IT’S A FLIPPIN’ FLAMIN’ STUPID WAY THAT REALLY GETS MY GOAT!!’ ‘He’s done well for himself, mind’. ‘HE’s done well for himself? Selling detergent and shouting a lot?? I’M FLIPPIN’ CAPTAIN-‘ ‘Stand-in captain, luvver’ ‘-I’M FLIPPIN’ STAND-IN CAPTAIN OF FLIPPIN’ FLAMIN’ WALES, ME!!!’ ‘You’re shouting as much as cousin Barry, luvver!’ ‘FLIPPIN’ HECK!!!’
TUESDAY: For the umpteenth time, me breakfast was interrupted by a knock at the door. ‘Craig, someone has painted your door bell, it doesn’t work’. It was Dirk Kuyt, me temporary next door neighbour. ‘Yes, thanks for that, Dirk, I am aware of the fact and it’s being dealt with in due course. How can I help you?’ He looked left and right, all nervous like, and then whispered: ‘Is, er, that meat I can smell from your kitchen, Craig?’ ‘Of course it is – it’s me breakfast’. ‘Can I have some, please, Craig? My wife, she good, but she only let me have those bacteria-friendly pots of yoghurt in the morning, and no proper man should have to put up with such a dreadful thing. I am so hungry, Craig’. ‘Sure, mate, no worries, you just sit yourself down and we’ll have a good old bit of roast meat!’ We’re really bonding, now, Dirk and me! I just wish I’d cooked a bigger joint. Later, we drove in together for training at Melwood. Carra was there reading the Daily Mail (from front to back! How intellectual is THAT!), Sami was playing this weird Finnish computer game called Find the Herring, Alonso was brushing his hair over and over and over, JR was watching a DVD of that Catharine Tate show, Gonzalez was in the lav, Finnan was walking around in dressed in green talking in a Cockney accent about ‘dem awful black an’ tans,’ Stevie G was reading this book called Strindberg For Dummies and good old Momo was just running all over the place for no apparent reason. So a normal day. Had to sit out the training session – the Gaffer said he wanted me to see the possibilities from a distance. He’s grooming me – it’s definite now! The missus really surprised me later on: we were watching Deal Or No Deal, right, and, out of the blue, she said, ‘Do you know what, luvver…this game is a bit of a lottery’. I was gobsmacked. She’s right! If you really look at it, it IS a lottery! No skill at all! Spoilt me enjoyment of the programme a bit, to be honest, but what an insight from the missus. She’s not as dim as I thought!
WEDNESDAY: Had a heck of a nightmare during the night: I was trapped in this box, right, and I could hear all these other boxes being opened while I was starting to suffocate. I woke up, arms outstretched, incredulous grin on me face, screaming, ‘I’m in this one! I’m in this one! Oi! Can’t you see me?? I’m in this one! THIS ONE!!!!’. The missus was so startled she fell out of bed. She was not best pleased, I can tell you. Very frosty. Dirk sneaked in for breakfast again. I was prepared this time – I got a nice big bit of meat in from Morrisons. ‘You are king of meat, Craig! You cook meat perfect!’ Old Dirk sat there rubbing his tummy, really beaming, like. I’m really warming to the lad. I watched the match later with Dirk’s dad. ‘Please, Craig, my new little friend, please keep feeding my son meat – look at his teeth: those teeth were made for meat, not bacteria-friendly yoghurt!’ I reassured the old boy I’d be delighted to do just that. I’m all heart, me. Then he patted my head and bought me an ice cream, which was unnecessary but a nice gesture none the less.
THURSDAY: Well, that was embarrassing! Just carving the meat for me and Dirk when KNOCK! KNOCK! Mrs Kuyt was at the door!!! ‘Is my Dirk in there, Colin?’ She always calls me that, but I let it go – she’s foreign, bless her. ‘No. Er, no, Gertrude, luv, isn’t he next-door?’ ‘No, and his Yakult has been opened and it essential he consume it immediately!’ Dirk’s hiding behind me wicker screen I won at the 2001 Eisteddfod. ‘Oh, er, well, I’ll send him your way if I see him, luv’. ‘Thank you, Colin. It great important!’ Phew! Poor old Dirk, I reckon he’s under the thumb a bit! Went out later and did the shopping for the missus, who is still in a bit of a bad mood after she fell out of bed, and also bought a number of very useful-looking DIY items from Argos. Someone's going to be busy! Watched Ready, Steady, Cook on the telly later - The tomatoes beat the peppers, even though it was quite clear that the peppers' dish (leek rigatoni with coconut chunks and meat) was vastly superior. What absolute CONKERS! I went to phone Salif, then realised he was in Stoke. Felt a bit down. Then had a large mug of Options Irish Hot Chocolate (TWO sachets!) then went to bed.
FRIDAY: 8.43am. Someone at the door - Ding-Dong! 'I see you have fixed your doorbell, Colin. Was it from this Argos place you always talking about?' 'Of course. Now, what can I do for you, Gertrude?' 'I believe this your meat?' She handed me some meat I'd given Dirk for his tea; she must have found it in his bag. 'Er, well, meat is meat, luv. One bit looks like any other'. 'You of all people know that untrue! Dirk and I will move soon into house of our own, which will be meat-free zone. You bad influence on him, Colin!' SLAM! Sheesh! Poor old Dirk! I saw him later at Melwood. Very red-eyed he was, like he'd been crying. I went and put a package in his locker. 'What is this, Craig?' 'That's one of me monthly boxes of peperami I get sent FREE as part of me new deal as the Face of Mini Peperami! You can have one of those here, Dirk, mate, and your missus will be none the wiser. 'Craig! You so wonderful!' The poor lad picked me up, hugged me and danced around the changing room, then gave me some money for an ice-cream. What is it with these crazy Dutch!
SATURDAY: What a HECK of a day! Still officially ‘injured’ thanks to me flippin’ calf, me flippin’ missus and Rafa being all confused, so your mate Craig had to sit and watch the flippin’ match. Great performance - nice to see the lads had taken on board my advice - and good goals. Dirk came up to me after, punched the air and just said 'Peperami!!' I winked. Job done. Got home to find the missus in tears - someone's only gone and nicked the calf! I just stood there, arms outstretched, incredulous grin on me face, too stunned for words. What a flippin' AWFUL end to the day!
