Life as a Transfer Tavern writer isn’t all cocktail parties in the boardroom, photographing Wags in their skimpy underthings and being driven at vast speeds down Clacton high street, by a fringe first team player at a lower table Premiership club in his new Bugatti Veyron, a car so fast, it can melt your eyebrows into your forehead. Occasionally it is damn dangerous, so when the evil powers that be suggested we go out into ‘the field’ and procure a page or two from the secret journals of the great and the good in the Premier League, to form the basis of a weekly article. We laughed. Then they said they wouldn’t pay us our weekly crust of bread and ounce of water, so we flung on a disguise and headed off into the darkness to see what we could lay our hands on. These are the results of our endeavours, hot from the diaries of the Premier leagues finest managers, what they really think and what goes on in the average day or so in the Premiership… To preserve anonymity, all names have been cleverly hidden and coded:
Saturday 12th December :
9am : Text from Barry Rednips, wheeler dealer extraordinaire. Asked me if I’d like him to take our broken down Ford Inand off my hands. Reckon’s he can get it going again. Told him that its currently in for a lengthy service, but if it’s still faulty after Christmas, to call me then. I may flog him it for a silly sum and buy something Italian and sporty. There’s a Kjaer I like that I’ve had my eye on for a while now.
11am : Got a text from ma son, Darren. It said “Giz a job Dad”. Told him to hang fire. There may be an opening down the road from me in a bit if the Spanish goat doesnae get his act together shortly.
2.30pm : Had a phone call from Barry Rednips, he asked if I’d be interested in a second hand Bentley. Hardly used. Going for a song. Told him I’m not interested at the moment. I’ve heard they are unreliable and once you’ve had a Ferrari, even one smashed in a tunnel near the airport, it’s hard to go back.
8pm : Blast! I don’t like it! Just watched my lot get beaten at Bold Fartford by Gaston Thrilla. That Marvin O’Kneel gets on ma tits, leaping up and down the touchline like a feckin’ stag in season. Had to do post match press conference with that eejit from Sky. Quickly glanced at my “Handy Book of Excuses” and found the page on timekeeping. Hope Darren gits me a new copy of this for Xmas as I’m down to the last page now and the next excuse on the list involves saying that we lost because, if we hadn’t, I’d have had to have sacrificed Tall Moles to the Mexican God of the Ginga and the world woulda ended in 2012. I can’t have that, only 3 more years of kicking the scoosers in the balls? Nowhere near enough…
10pm : Barry Rednips called again. Wants to know if I’m interested in a striking Russian speedster with problems starting. Told him thanks, but I’ve already got one striker that’s barely roadworthy in Mickey Omen.
11pm : Barry Rednips called. I pretended to be Greek to get him to bugger off and switched my phone off.
Sunday 13th December
9am : Phone went again. Barry again. I pretended to be the taxman and told him to send me his invoices for the year. Went very quiet and the line went dead. Ha! Peace for a day!
12pm : Feeling grumpy after last nights defeat, called players in for a training session at the hotel in London where we are waiting to see Bryan Jigs get totally unexpectedly awarded the Sports Personality of the Year Award. Had tae take Mickey Omen out with a suspected broken toenail.
3pm : Harry called asked, if I’d be interested in buying a Keano from him. Had one in the past that was a reliable motor, but this one’s had more owners than Portsmouth and has more miles on the clock than one of Wayne’s Old girlfriends.
5.45pm : Laughed myself silly at the crew from down the M62 throwing away the lead and getting undone by the Arsenal. Must send Arsene a Christmas card now.
10pm : Bryan won it! There’s a surprise! Good to see the speech I wrote with him three months ago went down well.
12am : Bed with champagne. Up early tomorrow for journey back home. Got a game against a pack of hungry Wolves in the week. They beat Barry’s lot yesterday. It’s worrying, I may have to play some first teamers.
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