FEATURED post

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.

I believe this report truly started on Thursday for me, during a relatively new exercise at work where my fellow colleagues and I are asked about our well-being. "Yeah, I'm alright," I replied as we went round the room. "You sure? You looked miserable when you walked in this morning," a colleague replied. This was two days on from Harrogate, another occasion on which that horrible, smarmy pillock Weaver and his merry band of shithouses had got one over on us…AGAIN. Realistica

First, I was going to write this in the form of complaint to the Local Trading Standards Office, citing that we had as a football club support have been mis-sold faulty goods who were unable to perform the basic functions of football and were therefore in breach of the Sale of Goods Act.

Three boxes of Give 'em Beans have arrived. I've had the notification. I return from work Friday evening and there they are in the hallway. It's always an exciting moment, sliding a knife through the brown tape, ripping off the plastic wrap and seeing people's hard work and dedication in physical form. They've arrived early this time, so Saturday's plans change. And already a lot has changed since the thing went to the printers. Such is life producing a Barrow AFC-focused fan