The wonderful One (an unreserved apology)

YESTERDAY I may have given the impression that the Wonderful Withers of WoS had compared his recent disappointments in the love department to a football team failing to win a league game. This, I now accept, is totally untrue.
To put the record straight he actually compared his miserable failures with the opposite sex to that of Eddie Johnson, the pretty non-descript American striker and perennial substitute at Cardiff City, who spent an absolute age trying to score his first goal - so much so that he could probably have been reprimanded for breaching the trade descriptions act by calling himself a "striker". He actually said: "I am a lot like Eddie Johnson in that the longer he went without scoring the more the pressure built up inside him, particularly with all the heckling he was getting from the terraces."
So, you see, it is absolutely nothing like being a football league team that cannot win a game, and feel the pressure the more it goes without them breaking their duck, particularly with all the heckling they get from the terraces. The analogy is obviously COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY DIFFERENT.
Withers, I apologise unreservedly.

Actually, to be fair he keeps getting in positions to score (although I hesitate to use the footballing analogy that he keeps getting into the box), and the suggestion I made the other day to the boys, that he was just the warm up act for the Prince of Darkness, is now looking more and more inaccurate, too.
On Monday night we joined up with the Fabulous Baker Boy, in town to take his folks to the Take That concert (so he claims), Monsieur de Lebussier and Mad Liz in the new old O'Neill's. It was a very pleasant evening which took an unexpectedly entertaining twist when we bumped into a lady from Chiswick in London claiming to be called Zenith. When asked what her surname was she came up with something totally unpronounceable with lots of clicks and gutteral sounds. She claimed it was down to her Zulu upbringing but we soon twigged she was a bit of a joker.
This was great for the Wonderful One who, as you may have heard earlier in this blog, fancies himself as a bit of a stand-up act himself.
'Zenith' was in town to campaign against a new Biofuels plant being located in Newport, her argument being that it will actually help destroy the rain forests - though I am unaware of any rain forests in Chiswick.
Still, in her spare time she just happens to fancy herself as a comedienne and has, in fact, been on a few courses in pursuit of this hobby. They were soon engaged in a bout of witty reparte which had the Wonderful One beaming from ear to ear.
Not so Mad Liz, who chose this moment to demonstrate how she has obtained her nickname. The Mad one, perhaps in a fit of pique having being robbed of the undivided attention of the Fab BB, joined in the conversation by saying: "Why don't you f*** off back to your hotel, Zenith. I don't like you." What a mentallist! as Alan Partridge might say.
Eventually we managed to calm her down and her and our guest were almost friends by the end of the evening.
As I left the boozer the Wonderful One and Zenith (real name Sue, disappointingly) were still deep in conversation. Go on, Eddie son... no pressure.