On Quality Street

So here it is, Merry Christmas and everybody's having fun! Well, unless you've had a gut full of enough grub to feed a small African village for a month topped off with the sort of quantity of gin required to euthanize an Elephant. Then you might have passed from the 'having fun' phase and be more into the 'wishing for a swift and painless death' stage of the holiday celebrations. I know I have.

Jolly Festive Uncle

Picture the scene.  The poor house is cold.  It stinks of damp, Dettol and overcooked sprouts.  At a rickety old table huddle a group of pale looking urchins. They are proper fucked to be honest, having spunked every last penny and more on awayday trips to the likes of Scotland, Dublin and an endless stream of Northern shit holes that no one would visit in their right mind unless they were making some sort of post-Brexit documentary on Broken Britain.

Turtle Turnstile

WE'RE BACK! Well maybe a little. But if you were ever to bump into Magnum P.I. on your travels, you'd understand. WE'RE BACK! to Halifax. WE'RE BACK! to a supposedly cheap day on the drink. WE'RE BACK! To where some of us spent an overnight during the Beast of the East (Not to be confused with a Dr Bell ex). WE'RE BACK! WE'RE BACK! WE'RE BACK!

Mulled Whine

Xmas is coming! How do we know? No, it's the never ending fucking perfume ads on telly, nor the fact that Mariah Carey's "All I want for Christmas" is on constant repeat in every. single. fucking. shop. you dare to even go near, let alone enter. Nor has it got sod all to do with a certain load of brightly lit artic's owned by a certain soft drink firm trundling round your one way system. Oh no, it's the increase of frequency of going out getting boozed with your work colleagues and rarely having to get your hand in your skyrocket as some nice bod with a company card is getting them in.

Party Like It's 1994

Greetings readers, hopefully some have stayed with us let alone been able to find us after a self-righteous Orient fan got our editor in chief and by extension, all of us, blocked on Facebook – but fear not as we'll never stop in our efforts to create these blogs for you the discerning football fan.

When the Rain Stops

We're back! Well that was what Magnum P.I. shouted out as we were just about to use the lil' boys room after the game at Mill Farm. The question is, was that an opinionated remark about the football that he'd just witnessed? Or was he simply just talking to himself, and his lil' fella as he pointed Percy at the Porcelain? Hmmm, that's a tough choice. And not one I'd want to call.