So, February. I've only just blotted out last season and already it's bloody February. All I can remember is rain and blind umpires anyway. And broken fingers. Season from hell. Another gin? Don't mind if I do, old son. With a gin in it. Your health.
Yes, broken fingers and rain. Half a season evaporated, just like that. Well, just like Norrie actually. Another Cross captain following Smith junior into the Bermuda Triangle. Apparently the boy Smith has gone off to sell legal compensation for assault with a black pudding or something. As for Norrie, done a Lucan, by all accounts. Funny the lengths people will go to get out of being captain. God, I'm parched. What's a chap have to do to get a drink round here? Debbie? No, not Debbie, what's that one called now? Never mind.
And that old crock Russell says he doesn't want the job any more. I ask you. Well, at least he's honest. And at least he's still here. Pity though. Thank you, old fruit, I will have another, that one went down very nicely, too nicely. No girls' rations this time, though.
So, yeah, it's February and that old tyrant Dr. "Lord" Herr Kolonel bleeding Admin tells me we need an AGM or we'll have 33 headless chickens on the field. So I say, "it's worth a try", but you know who really calls the shots round here, don't you?
Err..., yes..., sorry about that... better out than in, as they say. That was some curry, I can tell you.
I don't know why we can't just do ip dip for it. One potato, two potato, you know? So long as I don't have to do it, anyway. President's prerogative. Speaking of which, isn't it time someone got a round in?
So, that's where you come in, you see. Someone has to turn up at this AGM or we'll end up with the three stooges as captain. Beats having McGill, I suppose. But you can't have a good whinge at your elected jackass unless you were there to vote in the first place. And apparently that young playboy Broonster has bought us a new clubhouse or something. Whatever next? So I'll see you there, old chum.
Is it my round?
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