Fox In Disguise

Hello.

I thought it was about time I reported in again.

Things have been gradually improving in my tempestuous love affair with the beautiful game.

And today I reached new heights.

I became a Fox in disguise.

I went to the Mad Stad to watch the boys live with three Royals fans.

So I found myself amongst the home supporters, surrounded by blue and white hoops.

The Foxes fans tantalisingly visible but not close enough to connect with.

I had prepared myself well, removing all traces of evidence to link me to the Leicester boys.

But I drew the line at jumping up when they scored one.

Two.

Three.

And I sat on me hands and bit my lips when we scored our consolation goal.

Lovely shape and movement and skills on the ball, but not enough pace or 'tiger' in the box.

Steve Howard helped them raise their game when he was subbed on, but it wasn't enough in the end.

I wonder what the Svenmeister will have to say about that?

Make 'Em Laugh!

Well done those Chelsea boys!

Yes I know those are not words you would usually expect to see writ large on this blog.

But you see, whilst I was away on my ... erm ... sabbatical, my secret interest in this lot has increased.

Not that I would ever betray my Foxes for them.

When we are playing them in the Prem next season, there is no doubt my loyalties will firmly behind Sven and the boys.

I have started to feel their pain though, which is somewhat worrying.

And excitement, now the ManUre have given them chance to close their lead at the top of the table.

I hope that puts a smile back on my boy's face.

I Ain't No Cinderella

I think my post must have gone astray.

Whatever other reason could there be for not having received my invitation to that wedding, when others have clearly received theirs.

'Spect you can look forward to something a bit more up market than pie and mash there David.

Not that I'm bitter you understand.

In fact I will be here .

Watching some of this maybe.

Let Posh go to the ball. I'll be having a groovy time of my own.

Who Banned All The Pies?

We're quite green around these parts.

Not green as in wet behind the ears.

But green as in environmentally aware.

So it has not come as a complete surprise that the owner of our local team, Forest Green Rovers, has unilaterally banned red meat from the diets of the players and fans when they are at the ground.

Although I have heard a rumour that Chelsea are considering improving their green credentials with a bit of recycling of their own.

Come On Baby Light My Fire

I've been sick girls.

Not in the conventional sense you understand.

Sick in my heart.

It started back in the summer, in June. My lover was kind and sympathetic as you would expect.

And I was in denial for a while. Then just got absorbed in a wave of negativity.

I was left wondering if football and I would ever love each other again.

So I sat. And waited. And hoped.

And eventually it happened.

Like all great love affairs there was a bond too strong to be broken.

And once again I find I have been seduced.

First of all slowly. The odd Foxes win here. A visit to Forest Green Rovers there.

And then this week, like lovers reunited after a long break, football and I finally jumped into bed together again.

Who could resist this? Or indeed this?

It'll All Come To A Sticky End

Is it my imagination, or is there an increasing polarisation between clubs in the football league? There are those seeking to grow at a pace in line with their means, such as Blackpool, Aston Villa and Arsenal. Those who have Sugar Daddies and so disconnected from the real world. And teams which see borrowing on the promise of future return as the road to success, such as Manchester United, Portsmouth and Liverpool?

Are the teams working to the more modest approach being over-cautious and risk averse?

What happens when the Sugar Daddies move on?

And are the gamblers simply reckless and heading for a fall?

It makes me think of three people sitting opposite each other.

One is sucking an old fashioned toffee.

One is filling their mouth with sweets.

And the third is blowing a massive bubble gum bubble.

Bigger and bigger and bigger.

Until..................................

Here Come The Boys

I'm looking at a bunch of Spurs fans on the screen on my living room wall.

HD certainly shows up every tiny detail of those miserable little faces as their men get a kicking from the Young Boys.

No doubt City's manipulation of the situation with Craig Bellamy to prevent any other Premiership team getting the benefit of his talents, whatever the attitude problems that come with that, feels particularly galling to 'Arry this evening when he could have done with a solid performance from the Boy Wonder.

I have mixed feelings about Manchester City.

I can't warm to Mr Mancini, but there are quite a few players there I really like - Tevez, Wright-Philips, Hart, Adebayor.

And Eastlands was one of the stadiums we visited on our recent travels.

Probably my favourite one. Nice design and I really liked the circular external towers. I felt grand, but not too ostentatious (right photo).

Unlike Old Trafford, which I think reflects the international nature of its following; big, powerful, masculine but lacking something personal somehow.

It didn't feel part of the surrounding environment however.

Other than a row of very tacky shops, all painted red (right photo), just around the corner, the stadium sat alone.

Anyway, back to the trials of 'Arry. His boys are now back in the game with a couple of goals.

Onwards and upwards!

I Don't Believe It!

Welcome back for the new term everyone.

I have so much to tell you.

We are just back from a caravan holiday in the North West.

And visits to lots of football grounds.

From the Theatre of Dreams to lowly Chester's ground, rising like a phoenix from the ashes.

Combine that with the season kicking off, I'm like a pig in clover.

So much to think, talk and write about.

But of all the drama and stories of this new season - the departures of Martin O'Neil and Steve Coppell, the change of ownership of Leicester City, the 6 -0 pounding of WBA by Chelsea to name but a few - the best has to be the fairy tale start for Hollow Way's brigade.

We visited Bloomfield Road.

It's ..... erm .... all looking a bit nip and tuck over there at the moment.

Builders crawling all over the place, and the ground exposed to the world due to a gaping hole due to become a new stand. (actual photo from ML's phone-taken about 10 days ago)

On Saturday afternoon, My Lover and I listened with one ear phone each to the Five Live commentary of the Wigan Blackpool match on my mini radio, as we enjoyed a lovely cruise across Lake Windemere.

We can both already perform a creditable imitation of IH in a press interview. The trick is to include at least one reference to his wife and one to his dog to sound authentic.

And a bit of "Oooo Arrrrrr" going on of course.

We cheered when Blackpool scored first, to the amusement of our fellow passengers.

We looked at each other open-mouthed when the second went in.

The third merited a punch in the air.

And the fourth was followed by much chanting and whooping with laughter as we drove back to our campsite.

Top of the Premiership, if only for a few hours.

I bet Mr H is covered in bruises from pinching himself the next day.

It's all about as believable as their ground being finished on time.

Lets See If It's True

Is a great line from this song.

And tomorrow is when it all starts.

This time tomorrow I'll be in a field somewhere need Chorley, Lancashire, with My Lover, playing guitars.

We are going to explore the local sights of course.

Bury market.

Old Trafford.

Anfield.

Eastlands.

And maybe even a "Kiss-Me-Quick" in Hollow Way country.

There'll be fish and chips.

Banter, Beer and Busking.

It doesn't get better than that!

Last Chance Saloon?

HL again this evening.

In my opinion, one of the recurring themes of this blog seems to suggest the idea that simple, one dimensional solutions to problems do not work. And that football, like many other aspects of modern life, is often victim or martyr to public opinion, public outcry or public condemnation.

Often such open debate is characterised by passion, hatred, biased-opinion, love, gobshitery and outright foolishness.

Never more so than in the current shambles surrounding Marlon King.

Ask yourself, is it OK for a man to attack a woman, be found guilty in a Court of law, go on to show little remorse for his crime, serve 9 months in custody and arrive back in the community to the open arms of the good people at Coventry City?

Me ? I'm not sure.

Let's see what GB thinks...........

..............

GB here.

My view?

Well I have a fundamental belief that anyone can make a change if they really want to and have the right support.

I also know there are some who don't want to.

I don't think there's much doubt about which camp Mr King sits in.

What a crazy world we live in.

So much better in the good ol' days, when people knew how to deal with a problem once and for all.