It is Saturday morning and the B.O is having one last final coffee and little amaretto biscuit before it is time to head down to the crypt for the summer. Thank God for a bit of relief! he thinks to himself, for he's feeling pretty weary after another long season of working feverishly to obtain a no ambition mid table finish and piss everybody off in the process. It hasn't been a simple task, but somehow he has made it look easy. But now, at last he could get a bit of kip and dream about building flats and hotels in foreign lands, and finally he could take a breather from doing those tiresome little tasks like pretending he was watching a live stream every week. Yes, it was great that the season was finally over and there was nothing to be done for a couple of months until, come September, he could wake up refreshed and sack someone. Luckily, of course, his crypt is heavily fortified and he is confident there is little chance those bastards from CARD, (whatever that is), will find its location and wake him up from his well deserved slumber. Well I don't think that CARD ( whatever that is ) will be rushing to do that anyway. But whatever, howsoever, and notwithstanding and forthwith, let us leave this glorious B.O to his own dim, shadowy retreat for now, and let's hope that the summer somehow brings back some sunshine once more to the place of OUR dreams. He's still here. Oh fuck.....
During his long sleep he is awoken by 3 ghosts. The first The Ghost of Charlton Past. The ghost was a huge man with a shock of red hair, hands like coal shovels and wearing a green roll-necked sweater. “Who the hell are you?” asks the Best Owner, “I’m the Ghost of Charlton Past, you are to come with me” is the reply. The spirit transports The Best Owner to South London in the late forties. The scene in front of him is of a packed East Terrace, rattles are being swung, red rosettes sported, everyone has a hat on. Outside there is another scene, an open top bus, a flash of silver on the top deck, as it goes past. “Where is this?” asks the Best Owner. The spirit answers “It’s The Valley, team has been to Wembley the last 3 years, and now they have won the Cup” “These decent people you see, by and large haven’t a pot to piss in, have lost friends and family in conflict, and are still living on a diet of largely lard and liver, but they can forget all that for a few hours on a Saturday, and when good people work together this is what happens” The Best Owner surveys the crowds surrounding the bus and spots a couple jitterbugging “Look they are even dancing” he says. His creaking body tries to copy their steps and a tear flows down his wrinkled face. “Please take me home” he says to the spirit. A few hours later The Best Owner is awoken again “Come on I’ve not got all night, I’m a busy man” he hears, but cannot see where it is coming from. At length he spots a rather small balding man carrying a number of cameras. “Apparently I’m the Ghost of Charlton Present” he informs the Best Owner “and I’m here to take you to a Fun Day, amongst other things” They arrive in The West Stand Car Park, it is largely empty save for an inflatable castle, with a tearful child trapped within. Gangs of blue bibbed fat men charge around bringing to the ground anyone of the few people there not smiling, all the while The Ghost of Charlton Present takes photos. Above from behind a window an absurdly grinning manikin, dressed in black and white stripes, surveys the scene, the deafening thump of loud dance music is the only sound. “Good isn’t it” says the latest spirit “right we are now off to the reason as to why I took this gig” The balding spirit takes The Best Owner to a nearby home. The house is packed, a DVD showing past goals and games with Carlo and Killer is playing on the TV on the wall, people are drinking laughing and joking, banners are being painted in the garden. “Why are we here?” asks The Best Owner. “It’s just some Vinegar pissers house” the little spirit replies “they can’t see or hear us, I’m here to take some more photos and check internet browsing history” The spirit goes to the fridge in the kitchen and opens it. He asks the Best Owner “Would you like a sandwich? I’ve been told I’m really adept at making them” “Please take me back” the Best Owner replies.
Does the Best Owner get awoken a third time and realises the error of his ways? Does Tiny Solly finish up saying “God bless us, one and all” Or is it just another case of he’s still here, Oh Fuck.
It is Saturday morning and the B.O is having one last final coffee and little amaretto biscuit before it is time to head down to the crypt for the summer. Thank God for a bit of relief! he thinks to himself, for he's feeling pretty weary after another long season of working feverishly to obtain a no ambition mid table finish and piss everybody off in the process. It hasn't been a simple task, but somehow he has made it look easy. But now, at last he could get a bit of kip and dream about building flats and hotels in foreign lands, and finally he could take a breather from doing those tiresome little tasks like pretending he was watching a live stream every week. Yes, it was great that the season was finally over and there was nothing to be done for a couple of months until, come September, he could wake up refreshed and sack someone. Luckily, of course, his crypt is heavily fortified and he is confident there is little chance those bastards from CARD, (whatever that is), will find its location and wake him up from his well deserved slumber. Well I don't think that CARD ( whatever that is ) will be rushing to do that anyway. But whatever, howsoever, and notwithstanding and forthwith, let us leave this glorious B.O to his own dim, shadowy retreat for now, and let's hope that the summer somehow brings back some sunshine once more to the place of OUR dreams. He's still here. Oh fuck.....
During his long sleep he is awoken by 3 ghosts. The first The Ghost of Charlton Past. The ghost was a huge man with a shock of red hair, hands like coal shovels and wearing a green roll-necked sweater. “Who the hell are you?” asks the Best Owner, “I’m the Ghost of Charlton Past, you are to come with me” is the reply. The spirit transports The Best Owner to South London in the late forties. The scene in front of him is of a packed East Terrace, rattles are being swung, red rosettes sported, everyone has a hat on. Outside there is another scene, an open top bus, a flash of silver on the top deck, as it goes past. “Where is this?” asks the Best Owner. The spirit answers “It’s The Valley, team has been to Wembley the last 3 years, and now they have won the Cup” “These decent people you see, by and large haven’t a pot to piss in, have lost friends and family in conflict, and are still living on a diet of largely lard and liver, but they can forget all that for a few hours on a Saturday, and when good people work together this is what happens” The Best Owner surveys the crowds surrounding the bus and spots a couple jitterbugging “Look they are even dancing” he says. His creaking body tries to copy their steps and a tear flows down his wrinkled face. “Please take me home” he says to the spirit. A few hours later The Best Owner is awoken again “Come on I’ve not got all night, I’m a busy man” he hears, but cannot see where it is coming from. At length he spots a rather small balding man carrying a number of cameras. “Apparently I’m the Ghost of Charlton Present” he informs the Best Owner “and I’m here to take you to a Fun Day, amongst other things” They arrive in The West Stand Car Park, it is largely empty save for an inflatable castle, with a tearful child trapped within. Gangs of blue bibbed fat men charge around bringing to the ground anyone of the few people there not smiling, all the while The Ghost of Charlton Present takes photos. Above from behind a window an absurdly grinning manikin, dressed in black and white stripes, surveys the scene, the deafening thump of loud dance music is the only sound. “Good isn’t it” says the latest spirit “right we are now off to the reason as to why I took this gig” The balding spirit takes The Best Owner to a nearby home. The house is packed, a DVD showing past goals and games with Carlo and Killer is playing on the TV on the wall, people are drinking laughing and joking, banners are being painted in the garden. “Why are we here?” asks The Best Owner. “It’s just some Vinegar pissers house” the little spirit replies “they can’t see or hear us, I’m here to take some more photos and check internet browsing history” The spirit goes to the fridge in the kitchen and opens it. He asks the Best Owner “Would you like a sandwich? I’ve been told I’m really adept at making them” “Please take me back” the Best Owner replies.
Does the Best Owner get awoken a third time and realises the error of his ways? Does Tiny Solly finish up saying “God bless us, one and all” Or is it just another case of he’s still here, Oh Fuck.
Day 1233 and a 1, 2, a 1,2,3,4... Now, come on, no singing raucous songs telling people to fuck off and go home, the B.O. is trying to sleep... He's still here. Resting. Oh fuck....
Is it possible for season ticket holders to have a vote (veto) on whom Douchebag sells to? Rat (unlike previous regime) has paid the bills. Last thing we need is for the Walloon to retain ownership of the key assets whilst new owners play the game. Therein lies disaster.
Day 1240 and 1241. It's the Bank holiday weekend and all is calm in the crypt. Apart from the sound of gentle snoring, the occasional cry of "YOU BASTARDS!!", the momentary quiver in the right leg induced by a fandango fuelled dream, and the odd bit of dribbling, all is still. Well, with the season over, there's absolutely nothing to do for 3 months is there? He's still here. OH FUCK....
Comments
How about a song then:
"We danced at the sight of the loon.."
The ghost was a huge man with a shock of red hair, hands like coal shovels and wearing a green roll-necked sweater. “Who the hell are you?” asks the Best Owner, “I’m the Ghost of Charlton Past, you are to come with me” is the reply.
The spirit transports The Best Owner to South London in the late forties. The scene in front of him is of a packed East Terrace, rattles are being swung, red rosettes sported, everyone has a hat on. Outside there is another scene, an open top bus, a flash of silver on the top deck, as it goes past.
“Where is this?” asks the Best Owner. The spirit answers “It’s The Valley, team has been to Wembley the last 3 years, and now they have won the Cup” “These decent people you see, by and large haven’t a pot to piss in, have lost friends and family in conflict, and are still living on a diet of largely lard and liver, but they can forget all that for a few hours on a Saturday, and when good people work together this is what happens” The Best Owner surveys the crowds surrounding the bus and spots a couple jitterbugging “Look they are even dancing” he says. His creaking body tries to copy their steps and a tear flows down his wrinkled face. “Please take me home” he says to the spirit.
A few hours later The Best Owner is awoken again “Come on I’ve not got all night, I’m a busy man” he hears, but cannot see where it is coming from. At length he spots a rather small balding man carrying a number of cameras. “Apparently I’m the Ghost of Charlton Present” he informs the Best Owner “and I’m here to take you to a Fun Day, amongst other things”
They arrive in The West Stand Car Park, it is largely empty save for an inflatable castle, with a tearful child trapped within. Gangs of blue bibbed fat men charge around bringing to the ground anyone of the few people there not smiling, all the while The Ghost of Charlton Present takes photos. Above from behind a window an absurdly grinning manikin, dressed in black and white stripes, surveys the scene, the deafening thump of loud dance music is the only sound. “Good isn’t it” says the latest spirit “right we are now off to the reason as to why I took this gig”
The balding spirit takes The Best Owner to a nearby home. The house is packed, a DVD showing past goals and games with Carlo and Killer is playing on the TV on the wall, people are drinking laughing and joking, banners are being painted in the garden. “Why are we here?” asks The Best Owner. “It’s just some Vinegar pissers house” the little spirit replies “they can’t see or hear us, I’m here to take some more photos and check internet browsing history”
The spirit goes to the fridge in the kitchen and opens it. He asks the Best Owner “Would you like a sandwich? I’ve been told I’m really adept at making them”
“Please take me back” the Best Owner replies.
Does the Best Owner get awoken a third time and realises the error of his ways?
Does Tiny Solly finish up saying “God bless us, one and all”
Or is it just another case of he’s still here, Oh Fuck.
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
No sorry that means
Roland Is Pisspoor!
Unfortunately.
He's still here.
Oh fuck fuckety fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck......
In a secret location, there is peace and quiet, except for the sound of gentle snoring.....
He's still here.
Oh fuck.....
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck....and oh fuck....
He's still here. As D J Trump might tweet -" Bad!" Ha, he can talk.
Anyway, oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
Roland duchatelet called charlton fans idiots and said that they want the club to fail.
Roland is by far the lesser of 2 evils but you see a similar theme of complete ridiculousness of accusation.
For once. Look in the mirror.
He's still here.
And it's an oh fuck from me...
Now, come on, no singing raucous songs telling people to fuck off and go home, the B.O. is trying to sleep...
He's still here. Resting.
Oh fuck....
Still here.
Oh fuck.....
Just that today.
No?
Oh bollox!!!!
Rat (unlike previous regime) has paid the bills. Last thing we need is for the Walloon to retain ownership of the key assets whilst new owners play the game. Therein lies disaster.
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
He's still here like a bad smell.
Oh fuck...
It's the Bank holiday weekend and all is calm in the crypt. Apart from the sound of gentle snoring, the occasional cry of "YOU BASTARDS!!", the momentary quiver in the right leg induced by a fandango fuelled dream, and the odd bit of dribbling, all is still.
Well, with the season over, there's absolutely nothing to do for 3 months is there?
He's still here.
OH FUCK....