Eyres rocked – Club secretary on suicide watch.

Ben has one hand on the trophy & the other, … as usual. Accusations of Kenny taking a bung were unfounded – but we’ve finally found the chink in his armour. Achilles had his heel, Samson his hairdresser, but with Kenny, with a force-field all around him, it’s anything dribbling between his legs. 

With Chris putting yellows in front, a first aberration let whites back on terms, and when Geoff’s thunderbolt put us 4-2 up, after Andy’s similar effort we thought it was all over. Ally kept bouncing shots off the post though, with one pin-balling to & fro like a teleprinter on the line. It looked like it was coming out but I made sure with the oggie of the month (Dave claims at least 3 assists). Ken then made the mistake of looking down & thought “I forgot I had that”, whilst the ball dribbled through. Carl aka the one-eyed monster, did well on his return – a sight for sore eyes.

Fears that new clubhouse would lack the ambience of the Astra Bar proved unfounded as the beer proved to be every bit as good as the old. The manageress proudly displayed the new range of pumps “These are all the beers you could have had!” The bitter didn’t need any pretentious names like Dead Sheep, or Abbotts Crotch – the taste spoke for itself. And she’d got rid of those annoying bubbles. Leaving us with Carlsberg PROBABLY the only beer in the club. The IT security is top-notch – nobody has the wifi password. State of the art satellite TV which gives a fantastic picture, when the satellite flies over, which it did for at least 5 minutes. If Peugeot take the place over it might ruin everything.

Well done Ben - looks like you can’t lose the title now. Andy trudged off wondering where he could get a bulk supply of paracetamol, & why he has to play with a bunch of cretins.