Tuesday, 9 September 2008


And they say August is quiet. I bombed over to my gaff in Mallorca for most of it. Part of the making it up to Mrs C has been a new swimming pool at the house.
It’s got our family coat of arms (two Hummers, a pile of cash and a bare arse) in a mosaic. All guests have to dive to the bottom and kiss it. We’ve also got a new helipad built on the roof, which is handy when our Russian neighbours pop round for a few steaks.
It’s all gone mental over there, but for once it’s not me they’re gossiping about. This bloke who drives my Bentley Azure for me has been ferrying Paul “The Plumber” Davidson about. Or should that be “El Fontelero”? He’s got some front that bloke. One minute he’s bankrupt, but he’ll tell anyone ready to stand a round in the Admiral Rodney that he’s trousered it away. Then he’s flying about on Dave Russell’s plane and getting some Arab lads to back his new
invention that’s going to make him millions (like the last one). Next thing he’s going to buy Real Mallorca footy club.
Because I’m such a nice guy I put him in touch with my very good pal Mark Guterman, who’s told him all he knows about running a football club after his spellbinding terms in charge of Wrexham and Chester. The Penguin and the Plumber, what a double act!
The island has been going nutty for him; he’s in every paper, every day. He’s been looking around a house in Cala Llamp worth €26 million and everyone wants to buy him a drink. But if I was a betting man – and I am, as it goes – I reckon he won’t be buying it. And if I’m honest, some of his boasting and swaggering is getting a bit over the top. He’s starting to give Cheshire entrepreneurs a bad name.
So, with all that malarkey going on you wouldn’t think it was a holiday; it was like Chelford with sunshine.
Mrs C and the rest of the silicone jubblies brigade got all giddy when they heard that Alec “Craigy” Craig was in Puerto Andratx with his brood. Don’t get me wrong, Craigy’s alright for a lawyer, but I couldn’t see why they were getting their knickers in a twist. Apparently one of the dizzy bints had got lashed at the 40th of everybody’s favourite estate agent Stuart “Rushy” Rushton. She overheard someone telling the story that they’d met this bloke from Chester who’s oldest lad is that Daniel Craig, the James Bond actor bloke. The dozy cow put two and two together and came up with Craigy siring kids when he was 11 years of age. Women, unbelievable.
Anyway Rushy’s do was brilliant, shifting big houses in Mobberley isn’t as easy these days, but you’ve still got to let rip for the big one.
Someone should try telling that to the property lads. Have you seen how the invites for the golf days have dried up this year? Fair play to Hurstwood for sticking at it, but I did notice that it’s moved from the Marriott Worsley to the Rawtenstall Municipal or somewhere.
I’ve certainly never known a time like it.

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