Mrs Norfolk Jim, your husband met a Ukrainian while you were shopping in a ‘fine city.’ He had too much integrity to impregnate her with more than footballing wisdom Penned in before a sea of black and orange, he watched his team through a veil of netting; saw Hangeland head us to Turin and another […]

One morning, at Battersea Funfair, I noticed Mike Withers. He always wore a dark grey tracksuit, whether in the pub or working, but was usually in Southwark. Normally he had London Pride, but today was holding coconuts. The state I found him in, on the day after our relegation, I was in too; the disbelief […]