And sometimes you just have to work. As it is written. And all that rushing round, getting into the City early, being busy busy, can be a bad thing. Ok, it may have its rewards (in one life or other) but it can prevent me from finding my ‘happy place’ and contemplating the world in order to make it better.

So having sorted out Boris, who may or may not have had a ‘relationship’ with tubby blond Yank, but it DOESN’T MATTER and is no-one’s business at all. Because essentially paying someone 135 grand of public money so he can shag his latest is no compromise of anyone’s standards. Sorted.

Rugby? Sorted. Athletics? Sorted. Dina Asher-Smith is wonderful and edible. Donald Trump? Sorted. Unless you’re a Kurd or any other type of decent, responsible human being. Brexit? Ok, not everything is quite so binary. And then there’s football. This year’s taboo subject. The unmentionable. The game that shan’t be named.

Because its all gone, in the parlance, ‘tits up’. The glory days are over. If they really ever began in earnest. The joy, the pleasure, the delight, the… the… the everything has just been sucked down some horrible sewage pipe into a steaming great heap of total fuckage. As we enter ‘international week’ on the back of last week. Which ended: Played 2, lost 2, goals for, 2, goals against, 10. Players performing well, none, players you’d like to kill or maim, 9, manager you love… jury’s out.

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY FOOTBALL TEAM????

A cry that can be just as loudly heard all over Manchester. As United underperform to a ridiculously high (low?) standard. And City lose at home to Wolves. Which is no big shame or tragedy; its just not Manchester City. As we know and hate them. Chelsea are winning, which is a surprise to everybody, especially Frank Lampard and Arsenal hit a ‘seam of form’, winning a massive 2 consecutive games. Liverpool keep on winning. But as very few people care about them, that’s scant compensation for the clusterfuck that has been the start of this season.

I’m already wishing it was next season. The only consolation is that our goalie has broken his arm and won’t be able to give away ridiculous and unnecessary goals until January at the earliest.

Spurs have destabilised. Our defenders can no longer defend, our attackers suffer attacks and our midfielders just don’t. There’s no spirit, there’s no cohesion, there’s no love. Whether this is down to the manager ‘losing the dressing room’, as has been alleged, or due to players who wanted to leave not actually doing so, or whether its down to the rumours of lovely Jan Vertongen being not quite so lovely as he ‘does a Boris’ with Christian Eriksen’s wife. That’ll cause upset.

The result is that we are just rubbish. Which started at the end of last season but was somewhat disguised by our league position and champions league appearance. Now the disguise is over, the facade is gone, we are just shit.

Time to pray. Well it is yom kippur tomorrow; what better time?

Fast well
A xxxx