My hovercraft is full of eels

Let’s face it, sometimes more time is wasted trying to think of a title for these blogs, so today I just couldn’t be bothered.

Last Saturday’s FA Trophy game with Corinthian-Casuals was not the greatest. After going three goals up early in the piece without even trying very hard, we did our very best to try and mess the whole thing up, we played poorly for three quarters of the game and by the time the final whistle went, I was pleased to just get the heck out of there with the victory.

We’ve developed this worrying habit of switching off for short periods – we went asleep for ten minutes at Carshalton Athletic and blew a two goal lead; we were careless for a couple of minutes at Dartford when three goals up and promptly gave ourselves one of the most stressful second halves I’ve had the fortune of witnessing; we kicked off the second half one minute after Bognor Regis Town and promptly lost the game in that one minute.

So, when we started becoming a little ill-disciplined halfway through the first half against Corinthian-Casuals, alarm bells began to ring a little. And then they rang a lot when we gifted them a penalty, which was converted. And then it felt like we started panicking a bit and we were just waiting for the next ginormous cock-up to arrive. Thankfully, we scored a penalty with ten minutes to go which eased the tension within me, and then promptly conceded another penalty but by then the game was done and dusted. We do make things blindingly difficult for ourselves sometimes.

The latest moan from me to do with people making my job difficult, well, I may have moaned about these before, but the substitution boards are horrible, especially at night. I have checked on the boards, unfortunately there is no brightness setting. I’ve looked because every time there’s a substitution when it’s dark (and it’s been the same at Kingsmeadow and Fetcham Grove as well, so it’s not a KGF thing in the slightest), the numbers are so bright that they fuse together into either red or green splodges. At the Bognor game I think it was, that was a midweek game, I was having difficulty telling the number 5 and 6, and indeed 15 and 16, apart. It was the first midweek game since the clocks changed and what a difference this has made, the whole game was under floodlights and the substitution board number brightness seemed to bypass ten and eleven and indeed went straight up to twelve. Sadly, there’s genuinely nothing to be done about it…it’s either blag it, or wait for further confirmation on the off chance that the substitute turns around and shows me his number. You wouldn’t believe the number of times that last bit doesn’t happen…

Tomorrow afternoon we visit Brightlingsea Regent, a team that we possess a dreadful record again, losing four out of four so far. I don’t believe this will happen, but we had better not go into this game with one eye on next Sunday’s visit to Macclesfield Town. If we do, we definitely lose tomorrow. If we treat this game in the correct manner, as in this is the most important game we’ve got because it’s the next one, then we can do well. We need to start doing well in the league, whilst we’re lower than I think we ought to be given the talent in the squad, we have not hit the heights in league games, something we need to start doing and with regularity very quickly, hopefully starting tomorrow. I’d like to think that we can.

So, we have a General Election coming up on 12th December. Whoop-de-doo. I am not politically minded, and looking at some people I am very glad of it, but I do just have one wish for this election campaign. And I know it won’t be granted. But, please, all political parties – please stick to telling us what you yourselves want to do – don’t worry about anyone else, what can you do if elected? Elections these days are simply campaigns full of “oh look, I’m bloody brilliant at puns, I can say what I damn well like as long as it’s catchy”, or telling the public what arseholes Parties X, Y and Z are and how frightening they are, and how they’re going to kidnap your puppy and feed it into a pasta maker (what the hell have I been watching recently?), so to stop them doing that then you have to vote for Party…er…run out of letters…er…Q (not telling you that Party Q will actually do the pasta thing to your kitten instead because they’re secretly cattist). As I said, this is not going to happen (it’s already gone up the wall and we’ve got another six weeks of this flatulence), it’s so negative and utterly, utterly, utterly depressing. I’m not going to talk about it any more, just stop the ****ing world and let me get off.

OK, this weekend is one to try and forget most things, cheer on some guys who will be wearing yellow shirts tomorrow afternoon, then return home and watch, much to the annoyance of Rosey, the NFL. And maybe, much to the annoyance of Rosey, the Grand Prix as well (even though it’s at a track, Circuit of the Americas in Austin, TX, that I detest). Whether a kebab is involved is still up for discussion…

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