Surprised that that little diving lad didn't get nominated, you know, what's his name....oh, it's on the tip of me tongue.....Suarez that's it! I tell you who was never going to be in the running, that twat that presented Match of the Day on Saturday night, struggling to come up with his name as well. No not Lineker, some other git, who's opening gambit was to tell us how many goals had been scored in the Premier League that day. Which is all very well unless the game that you are particularly interesting in is the last one on. So me and me Dad spent the entire programme trying to avoid adding up how many goals had been scored in total, so as to attempt to avoid our televisual entertainment being entirely ruined, only for this knob-head to introduce the game with "this is the last game on 'cos it had the fewest goals in it." Seeing as we already knew that 3 was the lowest number of goals scored that day, then this urinated all over our chips of enjoyment even more, especially when the score got to 1-1. So thanks for that Mr BBC Fuckwit Spoilsports Personality Of The Year, a polished pooh on a plinth is on it's way to you right now, you cockend.
You couldn't make it up could you. I spent much of the weekend dozing on the sofa watching telly. Glastonbury was on, although sad to say there was no Snoop Dog, Bone Jovi or any other canine related artists. The big news seemed to be the lack of female headliners and now we know why as one scored a spectacular own goal. She missed her slot cos she was doing her hair. It takes ages she said. Why NOT start doing your hair well before your show time. Aaagh no where's my handbag I've left it in the car, I've got to back to fetch it.