Thursday, May 29, 2008

Corned beef and Wensleydale sandwich

NEWS reaches me of one particular Cardiff City supporter who wasn't quite as well behaved as his brethren who made the trip to Wembley. My source was sitting in the first-class compartment on a train waiting at Paddington for the journey home. A fellow passenger entered the carriage and was heard talking on his mobile phone. "No, I think he may have been kicked off the station. I think he was going to be arrested," was the gist of the conversation.
Ten minutes later a staggering figure burst into the compartment and fell down in the seat next to the phone user. It was none other than Coggsy, taking his seat next to his father, the renowned journalist Peter Corrigan.
In true Father Jack manner he then proceeded to demand: "Driiiink!!"
His father had to turn to him and explain, in words of no more than two syllabus, that no, Coggsy would not be allowed to have a drinky on the train as it had no bar and was, in fact, alcohol free.
It later emerged than Coggsy, stumbling on to the platform and swigging from a bottle of brandy, was stopped by transport police as he made to board the train.
"I'm sorry sir, I am afraid you can't take that with you," said the policeman, indicating the brandy bottle.
"Ok," said Coggsy, and then attempted to guzzle the lot in front of the bemused plod. At this moment a bit of grappling broke out and eventually the award-winning columnist was forced to admit defeat.
Rather than have to put up with this slobbering example of the human race, the Met boys decided they had better put him on the train, though, and send him back to Wales before they were faced with even more earache. I suppose you could say he was deported from England.
Rest assured, though, he'll be back.

This week I have been pretty busy at Meeja Wales editing the Western Mail, a job I never thought I would see.
Even so it's been quite a fun week and I have needed a few beers afterwards, particularly with the Prince of Darkness taking time off to replace his blood with pure vodka.
Withers and I bumped into a real odd fish last night, a rather scary lesbian scriptwriter. Fortunately we lost her when Withers went and hid around the corner on the pretext of watching Wales play Iceland at football. No one in their right mind would swallow the fact that someone would actually choose to do that, and she certainly didn't view it an attractive proposition. I will have to use similar excuses in future.
On arrival at home I made use of some bargain corned beef I bought from Sainsbury's the other day. With a nice bit of flaky Wensleydale (My God I am starting to sound like Wallis of Wallis and Gromit fame) and some pickle it was really quite tasty.

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