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Writing

12th November 2010

Overcast. Gloomy. Hint of rain. This weather is so Mancunian they should give it a FAC number. No wonder Jimmy took wickets.

Disapprove of Flower’s latest innovation – a Native American sweat lodge. Damn thing colonises the dressing room like German tourists round a swimming pool. Forces us to change in treatment area and move physio’s table into children’s crèche down the corridor. That’s no environment to have players queuing for a rubdown. We’ve already lost Belly in the ball pit. Had to dangle his jock strap over edge of deep end. Let him follow his own stench out. Thankfully he made his way back a couple of hours later with a rueful smile and Barney the Dinosaur birthday balloon.

Bored. Have convinced Alistair his footwork can be improved by imitating Riverdance. Seems to be working. He’s already made a tit of himself clomping round the dressing-room. Shame he made runs today. Was within ace of getting him in buckled shoes and all green mini-dress.

Spotted stray coco-pop in KP’s tache at dinner. It looked like lone bauble on Christmas tree. Must have been trapped there since breakfast. Either they’re very adhesive or Kevin’s not as athletic in the field as he likes to make out.

He’s having it off at the end of the month. The moustache I mean. WAGS don’t get here until much later.

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