From Lithuania with Love (I sold my soul) - Drinking Abroad

Having witnessed history with Gibraltar's first ever competitive match, the gang now find themselves in the car park of the Estadio Algarve. It's 40km to Albufeira, they've got almost a full tank of gas, several packs of cigarettes, it's dark and some of them are wearing sunglasses.

Hit it Juan.

What Did Marcus Say?

A tourist is in Sutton one Saturday and he decides he would very much like to go to a football match, so he asks a man in the street if there are any local matches being played that afternoon. "Well," replies the man, "The Sutton United ground is very close but they're playing away today. If you feel you must really see a match, the Carshalton ground is not far away. You go straight down this road and you'll see two queues, a big queue and a small queue. You should go to the small queue because the big one is for the fish and chip shop."

It's the Minnows from the Rock! - Football Abroad

Shut up shut up SHUT UP!

I don't have the best relationship with my alarm clock as it is to be honest, but when the little cuboid bastard is waking me up at 5am on a Sunday morning with his shrill electronic banshee howl, my dislike for him reaches even greater hammer attack inducing levels. Ok, I accept that ultimately I set the time he goes off at, but bollocks. This is Gandermonium, so sense and rationality have absolutely no place here.

The Wrong Bookend

With a puff of smoke, the wheels of our plane land at Gatwick. The time is half past two, twenty minutes later than expected. For the past two days we've away doing what the Gandermonium Firm does best. But we won't be discussing any of that little trip here, we'll be leaving that little ditty for another time (soon!). Lets just say that over the course of two days we were considerably hung over and found ourselves considerably poorer at the end of it.

How do you follow that?

“Good morning, I’m from Sutton United Football Club.”

That’s my new calling card as I signed up for accordion virtuoso AB’s roving sales force for the club and took to the streets of The People’s Republic of West Sutton on Thursday on my trusty old bike to distribute propaganda on behalf of the Great Leader we know only as Dos.

And what a week it has been for fans of the heady brew of football and bollocks that is Gandermonium.

Commit No Nuisance

Its Sunday morning. In fact its half past fuckin' six on a Sunday morning. And where am I? East Croydon. I walk past MacDonald's and there is this fella spread-eagled in front of the door, snoring to his heart's content. People are stepping over him to get inside, how could someone get in such a state? Well lets start from the beginning...

Rain Rain Go Away...

Have you ever been kicked in the bollocks? Have you ever fallen off your bike and smashed your crown jewels on the handle bars as you went over? Have you ever had a football fired at your knackers at 90 mph, and it’s smashed you so hard you fall to the ground in agony and wish you were dead? Oh you're lucky enough not have ever experienced this pain before or are of the lady persuasion? Well if you want to know how this feels then read on.

It's All Banter-ish

Yeah that's right banter, bants, or even top b. Just some of the words that are used to describe some of the drivel that emits from our north & south every match. The things we say to each other on a daily basis would be on a totally different playing field to some of the messages that Mackay sent to Moody. To put it in prospective, they are Gone With the Wind to our Scarface!

Just Wandering.....

What’s that I hear you mutter, no game? No bloody game. Oh and why is that, yeah Salisbury. What a farce, beyond words. So at the expensive of another club that get booted out of the league after the actual fixtures are released is beyond a joke. Today was of course the day that we indeed had our home fixture scheduled against these wasters. So what! So bloody what!

Angry Goalkeeper

Time check-5 pm:- Time to leave work and give it legs to the train station to make the next available train back into Sutton. Sweating like Oscar Pistorius waiting on the verdict at his murder trial I make the change at Sutton, and head back into the wilderness, no phone signal area of Banstead. The key into the front door and I’ve made it home in 50 minutes, touch!