I’m a competitive guy and I hate to lose. That much is obvious, right? And I reckon I’m onto a sure-fire winner with my latest import, the vuvuzela. You’ll have heard them if you were watching any of the World Cup, some people find them annoying but to me they sound just like my accountant droning “We can’t do this Roger, we can’t do that Roger”.
I think they stole my heart when I was wandering through town and some Doris in a football shirt whispered sweetly to me: “Would you like to blow on my vuvuzela?”. That touched me in a very special place, I have to say. They’re going to be all over the Premier League like Dani Behr next season and I’ve got the exclusive UK licence.
Me and a few of the boys piled over to SA for a few days to soak up the atmosphere and seal the deal, as it were. The football was rubbish. Saw some dross between Bongo Bongo Land and the former Soviet Republic of Bulimia, forget the details. England were shite as well.
I just wish someone had said it was winter, it was bloody freezing. Although my beige Hugo Boss looked the bollocks when we were on safari.
It’s been a busy month on the sports front. Pal of mine whistled up a few Centre Court tickets for Wimbledon (last time I went they lost 2-1 to Coventry, ha ha) which was a belting day. Belting if you like old biddies reading the Daily Mail and eating strawberries, anyway. There were a few young Dorises knocking about, although with these tennis sorts you’re never sure if a) they’re legal or b) they’ve got a mental dad from some East European war-zone. Best to steer clear.
I’ve also been up to the cricket at Old Trafford. I quite like that big red box they’ve got over the little changing rooms building, but we could have done a better job with it, or at least got them a sponsorship deal with China Shippping. I was hoping to have a catch-up with Beefy Botham but the mobile signal must be blocked out by the new box – and Freddie Flintoff was out of bounds too, think he was busy on a bash with his best pal Paul “Becky” Beck.
That’s not all. I’ve offered my services to the lads who’ve taken over Chester City. I’m a “football man” who thinks he’s got a lot to offer in the boardroom and beyond – there’s no point being modest about the fact I can play a bit. Basically, I just want to be brilliant around people.
For some reason, when I told them I was good pals with Mark Guterman and Alex Hamilton, lads who’ve been there and done that when it comes to footy clubs, they went all cold on me. I’ve never understood the Welsh.