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.

It Braint Our Luck Sometimes

Oh the excitement! What more could any Sutton supporter want but with a cold, wet & windy midweek trip to Essex to face a team currently at the foot of the table? If for a second, we forget the silly saying of "there are no easy games at this level" and instead consider the cold hard fact that that we're up against a team who've mustered only thirteen points in twenty one games. Unlucky for some?

Packing Like Bindon

I’m not one to bang on about the Good Old Days as you know but I was reminded this week that it’s exactly forty years since Ian Dury released his number one smash Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick and the Jam were riding high in the album charts with the seminal Old Mod Cons. That spun me right back to those days in 1978 when I was sixteen, waiting to leave school and sitting bored shitless in the office of the council education and youth officer discussing my career opportunities.

Shaggy Calf Lane

Despite being Non-League sad sacks who follow our little club up and down the land to such awe inspiring locations as Barrow, Hartlepool and Solihull, even we need the occasional break. A chance to decompress and experience what some would call 'normal' life on a Saturday afternoon during the football season, like what those who are slightly less fortunate that us not to live such a non-stop rock and roll lifestyle of endless drinking, Virgin Trains seat reservations and taking the piss out of Dukey's Windows Phone as ours.

Taken up the Rico Perez - Football Abroad

Standing on Gander Green Lane at 4.30am on a late November Sunday morning in the biting cold and pissing rain you cannot but help wondering what the fuck it is that you are actually doing with your life. I’m tired, hungry, a bit hungover and waiting for Tony Bacon to bowl up from the Park Farm Estate in his nice warm motor.