Get your passports out everyone
Hooray! The gargantuan expired moggy has been unceremoniously dumped onto my dinner table. Thanks, Tories.
I wake up daily and have to remind myself somehow I live in a country where Boris Johnson is the Prime Minister. Well, now I have more reasons to be confused as to how it ended up like this.
Yes, this week our glorious leaders gave new meaning to the name “Tory Party”.
While we all followed the rules, stayed indoors and didn’t touch anyone else, the elite were casually deciding that in fact, while they set the rules they sort of... won’t be applying them to themselves.
So we’ve had party after party after party coming out the woodwork. Imagine going to a social event with Priti Patel? I’d rather go water skiing with Bashar Al-Assad.
No doubt those in the corridors of power view us (the people of Britain) as a bunch of thicko, whopper, proles. That’s right - Johnson, Rees-Mogg, Raab, Gove, Williamson and Javid are all just better human beings than you. Just accept it.
Unfortunately, when you look at the T&Cs you find out that, awkwardly, people kind of... voted for them. I know, right? What on earth were millions of people up and down the land smoking when casting their votes in December 2019?
It seems the Tories believe they are the GP who hoovers 50 Benson and Hedges a day, but can still tell you not to smoke. Maybe this is just Rees-Mogg’s payback to the bullies who repeatedly flushed his chops down the toilet every day at prep school for what probably felt like an eternity. Even he was too posh for the posh kids.
And, in an effort to distract us from all this, ‘Plan B’ has arrived - and this is where it really is going to affect you.
Sadly, it’s a bit like the ‘Plan B’ that Stewart Donald had when he decided to sack Jack Ross and replace him with Phil Parkinson. Basically, it’s complete bollocks.
Unless we get fewer than 10,000 in the ground, everyone (over a certain age?) will either have to show proof of vaccination or a negative lateral flow test. For those of us out there who don’t like queuing to get into the ground in the freezing cold, then... sorry.
This will come into effect from the 15th December. So anyone going to Ipswich - again, sorry. It will be interesting to see what clubs like Wigan do - they fluctuate around the 10,000 mark - sometimes more, sometimes less. Is there a plan for that? And will we have to wear masks inside - because that’s been non-existent up until now? What do kids have to do?
Boris did say there were exceptions when wearing a mask was not “practical”, such as when eating, drinking, exercising, singing or slating the ruling class from the top of your voice to anyone who will listen.
Still at least we’ve accepted the fact that while millions of us have loved ones who have died, the Tories can still... oh wait, we haven’t.
Sam Kerr turns vigilante
I’m personally of the opinion that all pitch invaders should be escorted off the field and immediately turned into glue.
Except maybe streakers. They can live.
Too often we see the sight of an ageing, demoralised steward in a jacket three sizes too big for them chasing a boozed-up prat across the pitch. Without wanting to sound like I invented the Daily Mail, for some years I’ve believed that stronger action should be taken against this type of person.
Step forward Chelsea’s Sam Kerr, who served up some cold, hard, justice to an interloper this week. Apparently, he just wanted a selfie with Chelsea captain Magda Eriksson during their Champions League match against Juventus. So he decided to run onto the pitch to get it; it doesn’t really need to be said but there’s a time and a place - and this wasn’t that.
Kerr, clearly sick of the hold up in play, executed a shoulder charge with aplomb, sending her target flying like he was Dominic Raab piling into the vol-au-vents at a Gavin Williamson-hosted shindig. It was, without doubt, an impressive piece of work, though she was booked for her intervention.
I remember one streaker during my time at the Stadium of Light - back in 2001 against Manchester United. I distinctly recall the woman - dressed in nothing but stripy underwear - shaking hands with Niall Quinn. I’ve always wondered who she was and why she did it.
Were you the streaker that day? If so, say hi in the comments box below!
An absolute Schuey in
Go on, admit it, don’t you love it when divisional rivals have their managers poached?
That’s right, Ryan Lowe left Plymouth on Tuesday. Preston came calling, and it was too strong a lure for the man who is native to the north west to ignore.
However, if you’re a follower of Argyle on Twitter, it might have escaped your attention. Thing is, Argyle didn’t actually say he’d left, yet simply announced his replacement. In a tweet saltier than the tortilla chips at the aforementioned Downing Street parties, they announced they were “delighted” Lowe’s former number two had agreed to take charge.
Unsurprisingly, fans of Devon’s finest were not too happy about this development, with more tears being shed on the south coast than in an Allegra Stratton resignation statement.
You can see how the Pilgrims are a bit miffed - this is a man who has led them from League Two to the upper reaches of League One. Therefore the failure to acknowledge Lowe’s sterling work hangs heavy in the air - bit like the question of just how many piss-take parties the Tory government really did hold this time last year. Chaz Methven would probably know. Shit, he was probably there.
Of course, we all remember what happened last time Sunderland faced a side who had just promoted from within, as a Johnnie Jackson-inspired Charlton nabbed victory - let’s hope history doesn’t repeat itself on Saturday.