Prove me wrong Frank
Oh My Lord...Me at 16...Tizer and a crush on Tom the greengrocer
England v. Spain. ITV. 4:45 p.m. I'm sure I'll keel over one day at the sound of our national anthem and the sight of our brave boys all lined up ready for action. Armada and Drake and all that. Racist? Moi? Si. But only in the football arena.
Spaghetti with Pukka Bolognaise sauce. Garlic rolls. And a Becks beer. 1. Small.
And a Frankie Cocozza free X Factor. Bleating about drugs and girls has booted the kid out.. Rock Star? In your big head dear.
I'm fizzing with excitement and it's not even midday.
Clothes are laying about willy nilly, unwashed dishes are mountainous and the birds are demanding feeding...But all I can think about is my England and what a major-cock up Capello has made as regards the John Terry thing.
Saddling Lacklustre Lampard with the Captaincy is like putting me in charge of the World Bank:) I'd have a go but at the end of the day John, I'd fail and we'd all be broke.
So after penning this I'll whizz around getting things in order:
Food for today
Food for tomorrow
and
General Pottering
The drain needs doing.
Come On England:)
X
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