FEATURED post

I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour. Really happy, in fact. Sat in the Friendship, which is stretching the term 'local' somewhat for me, given that although Prestwich was once my stomping ground, I now reside on the other, less yuppiefied side of Heaton Park.

Much like the number 3 from Duttons to the Town Hall, or the former Prince Andrew, the Trust soccer bus to Salford was cancelled.

I had already written an intro for this game, long since rage-deleted after the postponement. I have no recollection of what I wrote; maybe something about Steve Evans managing the ‘gas’tric bypass

I'm sat at the dinner table, St James's, late 1980s. My little group of friends is talking football, or rather, we're trying to outdo each other in one-downmanship, which we're finding absolutely hilarious in that way you only can when you've yet to reach double digits. I support Coventry, says Peter. I support Luton, says Kurt. I support Gillingham, say I. The laughter subsides. The conversation turns, probably, to Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles or Dogtanian.