The Plastic Passion Match Report Archive

Chappaquiddick? Yeah I'm going that way, hop in!

“If you can keep your shit together while every last motherfucker is losing theirs, you’ll be a man my son.”
Rudyard Kipling.

THE ACHINGLY SUBTLE, INTRODUCTORY ZINGERS ...
Well what a summer it’s been ladies and gentlemen, what a summer it’s been. We’re going to start, as ever, with a sly, acidic, satirical gag to lighten the mood, but just to warn you, the humour is so subtle and the play-on-words is so delicate that you might miss it first time, so look out for it right? Ready? Ok here goes.

“On a state visit to China, Jeremy CUNT accidentally forgot that his wife wasn’t Japanese. Still, it’s not as if he’s Foreign Secretary or anything …”
What? Lack of relevance to the non-league football scene? Not related to the ‘Stone? You think it’s easy coming up with this shit? Every zinger on this site has to pass a stringent quality-control test. We had a beautifully crafted “Life of Brian” joke about Corbyn and the People’s Front of Judea, which worked on multiple levels, but we left it on the cutting room floor because it didn’t meet the IHRA definition of a zinger. (Puts on tin hat, tags local branch of Momentum, turns off notifications ...)

The World Cup concluded with the familiar sense of crushing disappointment, just slightly later than usual. I really had high hopes this time around, as all the signs were so encouraging. This was surely the best chance we’d had in a generation … of seeing a host nation’s fantastically corrupt security forces banish the England Brass Band to a gulag. At my age I’m starting to wonder if my dream of seeing a foreign state extract its revenge against these sonic war criminals by sending them to the kind of jail where the only musical activity involves trying to remove a tuba from your anus, will ever come true. (Although in fairness, trying to pull a tuba out of what’s left of your arse in a Qatari jail isn’t going to be a barrel of laughs.)

And here in the Stone the #IMNARB former UKIP leader Paul Bolton was seen in the High Street with his Babestation Wallis Simpson, apparently
trying to celebrate England’s win over Sweden by displaying a fash banner. His masterplan was reportedly thwarted when he was shouted down by a young woman and her Mum who had the misfortune to be standing near the crack territorial army operative when he made his move.

Which leads us to the real football. Because football isn't real if it doesn't come with the St Incenzo seal of approval ......  

THE BIT WHERE WE TRY TO MAKE SENSE OF CIVILISATION AS IT COLLAPSES AROUND US...

If you’d told me that at the end of last season I’d be feeling sorry for both Boreham Wood and Billericay, I’d have suggested you were experiencing a major hallucinogenic trip. And yet here we are. Last week, we were introduced to an agent who made The Hunter look like the Dalai Lama. Yes, really. Said agent claimed he was going to put the word around the Boreham Wood were “bent”. Now if he’d put the word around that were a “BOC” no eyelids would have been batted, but calling a club who count the beans so carefully that they charge volunteers VAT to broadcast radio shows bent was a fatal miscalculation. In one of many heart-warming stories this summer, Morgan Ferrier and Boreham Wood have now realised they are very much in love after all and that their marriage is stronger than ever.

Meanwhile Ricay’s fans are out of pocket after Truro suddenly decided to spring a move to Torquay less than a fortnight before the start of the season, a move that in itself might reasonably be described as on the very fringes of sanity. The Orange Order had booked their weekends in Cornwall only to find the game is taking place 80 miles away, although their ordeal pales next to that of the Truro fans, who’ll now face a 160-mile round trip for home matches. As we may have pointed out before, this exceeds the mileage it would take to drive from Maidstone to Dartford, Sittingbourne and Ashford – and back – combined.

Most startlingly of all, it was revealed this week that from March 2019 Dover Athletic are going to be playing their home games at Princes Park, Dartford, due to the anticipated post-cuntageddon traffic AIDS. A 13-mile section of the M20 is going to be turned into a car-park as part of the government’s Brexit Organisation for Logistics & Lorries Outside the Coastal Kent Sector. With almost all Dover’s playing staff living at least an hour’s drive from “The” Crabble (they aren’t daft after all), and with hardly any fucker bothering to watch them these days, the move makes a certain amount of sense.

*One paragraph, but ONLY one paragraph of this section is fiction. And if you'd just been revived from a three-year coma, you'd have no idea which of these ideas was the maddest, would you?

THE BIT WHERE WE CASUALLY HEAP SHIT ON THOSE WHO DESERVE IT

Want a prediction for the new season? At some point a journalist or a twitter user (the difference these days is minimal) will claim Salford City’s rise to a play-off position in the National League is “fairy-tale stuff.” Gary Neville’s house is apparently a temple to environmental sustainability, which is ironic given that Salford are the footballing equivalent of an oil slick, rolling into a bay and clogging the lungs of every luckless cormorant or otter in its path.

Nev reckons there used to be an etiquette that football clubs didn’t discuss each others business in public. Eye-watering bollocks of course, but if you sound like you believe it, people will start to believe you. He learned how to pull that stunt from the master himself. (What, too soon?).

It’s reported (and tweeted) that Salford are spending nine large, per week, on just two players, which makes the jaw-dropping wages paid to play-off-final-penalty-missing supremo of Stonebridge Road look like the handful of loose change Maidstone Borough Council don’t want you to give to the beggars on Week Street.

How are you supposed to compete with that? Barely, it seems. This has been a “difficult” summer when at one point it looked more likely than not that we were going to lose our manager and we did lose a coach (don’t call it a sacking) in Nicky Southall, who seemed far from gruntled about the way it was handled.

We also lost Josh Hare and Alex Wynter who both decided to join a club with ambition, although in fairness, whose heart wasn’t warmed by the way Eastleigh’s ambition survived the loss of their benefactor. Dagenham are still with us as well, having found some cash reserves down the back of the sofa, as are Hartlepool, who despite being at death’s door for most of last season, are our opposition this Saturday.

It's at this point that the opportunity to make some kind of tasteful analogy about Hartlepool's situation becomes difficult to spurn. Something along the lines of abandoning the Marie Celeste, only to be picked up by the Titanic. If you read the local press's account of what happened when their new owner, Raj Singh, was at Darlington, it makes it sound as if he was a bit unlucky, has learned from his mistakes and won't be repeating them again in a hurry. All of which is possible. As ever, if you want to read an account of something that isn't written by a journalist worried about their access getting revoked, you need to go to the fan sites.

A little over a year ago Singh was involved in a bid to regain control of Darlington. Given that his previous tenure had left them without a ground and relegated to the Northern League for multiple counts of financial shitgibbonry, this was about as enticing as a raffle where the first prize was having Theresa May sit on your face. Having made something of a recovery Darlington were in a position to give Singh the big FO, but the prevailing mood among Hartlepool fans seems to be that with debts of well over a million they had little choice but to put on a nose peg and start tonguing Theresa's
haricot d'amour. (Tasteful enough?) All of which means we have absolutely no idea what kind of side they'll have out tomorrow, although given that they did the double over last year when they were waist deep in whale shit no one is being excessively optimistic.

A club with our budget and in this part of the world basically has to wait for Gravesend and Eastleigh to cream off whomever they want. We’re left to deal with whatever they’ve missed in the hope we might Macclesfield our way to a play-off challenge.

We were too ponderous in the transfer market according to fans as yet unversed in the seedy reality of said market, something explained in vivid detail by this piece on Boreham Wood’s website, but we may have had a Piggottesque stroke of luck ...

THE BIT WHERE WE SALUTE A YOUNG MAN’S BRAVERY

The most interesting signing is our new left back, George McLennan, who’s still only 22, but has already taken a year out of the game because of mental health issues. We’ve had players in the past whose heads clearly haven’t been right: Nicky Johns during the Football League era, unable to cope with the abuse he was getting from his own fans; Ian Court at Mildenhall in the FA Vase, paranoid that Maidstone fans were laughing at him. This, however, is the first time a player has ever gone public.

Without knowing precisely what McClennan’s isues were, this is already a hugely courageous thing for a young man to admit to, particularly given the kind of environment he’s in. When Cowdenbeath’s David Cox “came out” about his mental health problems, his opponents responded by calling him a psycho and suggesting that he slash his wrists. If anyone doesn’t think that could happen here, remember that the line “I hope your wife dies of cancer” has been used in the Kent League before now. But it was just #bantz of course.

Cox’s suggestion was that the authorities should deal with this sort of incident with the same vigour they’d reserve for a case of racial abuse. This seems like a reasonable idea: it wouldn’t be difficult to weave it into the wording for the ground regulations, although I appreciate we’re wandering into a legally grey area: given that he'll be hearing the Cheer Up song when he's in a retirement home, I hope Kedders has broad shoulders in more than just the physical sense.

Some of our fans have been equally, publicly courageous in admitting they are clinically depressed and that they need medication. Now without claiming any psychiatric knowledge here, one plausible-sounding theory for this apparent mental health epidemic is that people spend too much time online reading things posted by cunts. Does that ring true?

If you support a club the size of Maidstone United you’ll meet a lot of people. Despite that it’s usually a positive experience (boom, boom), but the flipside is that when you’re on social media, you can end up becoming “friends” with people you barely know. Or that you don’t know at all. This can get awkward. Apparently you aren’t supposed to patronise people who share posts claiming Emmanuel Macron should be forced to visit the war graves of everyone killed by the Fuzzy-Wuzzies during the Blitz.

THE BIT WHERE WE RAIN RIGHTEOUS ANGER ON A FUCKING CUNT.

Here mention of the radioactive tumour on English life that is Stephen Yaxley Lennon becomes unavoidable, a man who adopted the name "Tommy" because it conjured images of a heroic English soldier. Actual Tommies beat enemies armed with lethal weapons. Lennon, so far, has beaten his girlfriend and the policeman who tried to stop him and yet somehow he's become a martyr to people who are (a) thick (b) cunts or (c) both. Some of his fans even give Nazi salutes, which is quite a feat of mental agility for a patriot.
So what do you do when someone you only really know through the football shares a #FreeTommy post?

Option 1) Mute, unfriend or unfollow. Muting, unfriending or unfollowing anyone who RTs Hopkins, Trump, or the goatee ponce who lives in his
Mum’s basement is the quickest and safest way to save your mental health. The drawback with this is, it allows the problem to fester.
So then there’s …

Option 2) Polite discourse. Earlier this summer our erstwhile left back Joe Anderson RT-ed a picture saying “the left don’t want you to RT this.” It claimed to be an aerial image of a demo, in London, demanding “Tommy’s” release. The actual image was taken in Liverpool, in 2005, after Liverpool FC had won the Champions League.
In fairness to Anderson, he deleted the tweet the moment this was pointed out to him but he isn’t the first Maidstone player to have fallen for a con like this. A youth team player a few years ago was duped into RT-ing a Britain First post. When this was politely pointed out to him he was apparently mortified and quickly deleted it, so you can argue this approach works, but after a while the relentlessness of it all can become wearying.

Which leavesOption 3) Tell them something like this:
“Check the profile before you RT. Check the FUCKING profile before you RT. Do I have to fucking point out there are better ways of honouring Britain’s war dead than by saluting a man who killed several hundred thousand of them? SO CHECK THE FUCKING PROFILE BEFORE YOU RT, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

This is what I do. Well actually it isn’t, I go with Option 1 every time. But Option 3 is never far from my thoughts.
THE BIT WHERE WE TURN TO A HIGHER POWER

So yes ladies and gentlemen, just as Neil Young kept on rocking in the free world during a time of imploding civilisation, so we cope by turning to the higher power that is Maidstone United.

People moan, yes, but they always did. At the Dulwich match I was with a group of people and we were moaning, but we were moaning about people
moaning, which makes it ok. And yes we moaned about the forum, but without it we wouldn’t have seen this. Read the thread to the end, as it goes in a direction you’d never have expected ...

When we founded this site some four and a half years ago, it was with the stated purpose of celebrating the greatest era in the history of Maidstone United that any of us could remember. This remains the case. We will carry on this season for as long as our various other commitments allow, but if you feel like helping us out with reports, especially from away games, this would be a bloody good season to start.  

We couldn’t find any famous Hartlepudlians other than Steff Jelling so there’s no Celebrity XI this week. Instead we’ll leave you with some ...

RANDOM OPENING DAY ANNIVERSARY SHIT.

We haven’t lost on the opening day of the season since 2012, when we somehow managed to crash 5-4 at home to Walton & Hersham in the first ever competitive game at JWW.

Maidstone United: Deren Ibrahim, Tommy Osborne (Tim Olorunda 83), Tom Mills, Nicky Humphrey, Graeme Andrews, Michael Phillips, Ben Davisson, Sam Bewick (Kaiyne Woolery 64), Shaun Welford (Ade Olorunda 83), Paul Booth, Alex Flisher.
Subs not used: Ryan Cooper, Charlie Mitten
Goals:
Paul Booth 40 (pen), 42, Alex Flisher 89, Michael Phillips 90
Walton goals: Phil Williams 18, 60, Graeme Purdy 75, 90, Jason Henry 81
Gate: 1569

In 2013, the day of the Great Gammon Invasion, we drew 1-1 with Wealdstone, a game that marked TWM’s debut and in which he rescued us in injury time by tipping what looked certain to be the winner against the post.

Maidstone: Lee Worgan, Richard Davies, Tom Mills, Jerome Sobers, Graeme Andrews, Danny Lye, Rory Hill ( sub Orlando  Smith 76), Alex Brown (sub
Paul Booth 79), Fabio Saraiva ( sub Iniesta 68), Frannie Collin, Alex Flisher Subs not used: Tommy Osbourne, Ian Draycott
Gate: 2138
Goals: Hill 45+1. Moore 59

In 2014 we went a goal down to Met Police before winning 3-1.

Maidstone United: Frannie Collin 66, Jay May 73, Charley Robertson 88
Metropolitan Police: 
Bradley Hudson Odoi 34

Maidstone United: Lee Worgan, Stephen Butcher, Tom Mills, Steve Watt, Sonny Miles, Alex Brown (Charley Robertson 83), Matt Bodkin, Jack Parkinson, Jay May (Jack Harris 89), Frannie Collin (James Rogers 77), Alex Flisher.
Subs not used: Jamie Coyle, Will Godman. Gate 1566.

In 2015 we won the first ever Plastico 2-0 at Sutton with goals from Joe Healy and Alex Akrofi.

Maidstone United:
Joe Healy 61, Alex Akrofi 88.

Maidstone United: Lee Worgan, Callum Driver, Tom Mills, Steve Watt, Manny Parry, Joe Healy, Matt Bodkin, Alex Brown (James Rogers 80), Jay May, Frannie Collin, (Alex Akrofi 69), Bobby-Joe Taylor (Mitchell Pinnock 80). 
Subs not used: Jamie Coyle, Jack Paxman.
Gate: 1307.

In 2016 BJT scored in a 1-1 draw at home to York …

Maidstone United: Bobby-Joe Taylor 22 York City: Clovis Kamdjo 69 Maidstone United: 1. Lee Worgan, 2. Callum Driver, 3. Tom Mills, 5. Kevin Lokko, 6. James Rogers, 8. Dan Sweeney (10. Jack Paxman 73), 11. Alex Flisher (20. Dumebi Dumaka 73), 14. Tom Murphy (7. Vas Karagiannis 71), 15. Anthony Acheampong, 16. Bobby-Joe Taylor, 17. Ben Greenhalgh. Subs


not used: 4. Jamie Coyle, 12. Jack Evans. 
Gate: 2495

… and in 2017 Joe Piggott was the scorer in a 1-1 draw with Maidenhead, when we shipped a last minute equaliser during a biblical storm

Maidstone United: Joe Pigott 51Maidenhead United: Sam Barratt 88 Maidstone United: 1. Lee Worgan, 16. Seth Nana-Twumasi, 2. Josh Hare, 3. Alex Finney, 13. Joe Anderson, 8. Stuart Lewis, 4. Reece Prestedge, 10. Jack Paxman (21. Harry Phipps 84), 9. Delano Sam-Yorke,  32. Joe Pigott, 17. Harley Willard (11. Tom Wraight 74). Subs not used: 5. Alex Wynter, 14. Jai Reason, 23. Jack Richards. 
Gate: 2298.

#COYMFS

The Generic Pre-Season Bollocks for 2018-19

Jeff Hewett crowdfunder: "This is important."

Spring, 2001 the Beauwater Leisure Centre, Northfleet.

Maidstone United are losing 2-1 to Beauwater FC, one of the very worst teams in the Kent County League Premier Division. The standard of football is absolutely shocking as is the venue, one pitch of a number crammed into one of the few green spaces in Northfleet. There is no stand, no covered accomodation, no hard standing and not even a barrier separating the pitch from the 100 or so fans, all of whom are supporting the away team, because Beauwater literally have no fans. The game is repeatedly interrupted by balls invading the pitch, kicked on to the field of play by children playing nearby, or from the players on the adjacent pitch.

Having watched Maidstone blow a 1-0 lead, the man next to me is suffering as much, if not more, than everyone else. And at one point, in sheer exasperation, he yells: "This is IMPORTANT!"
I looked at him and nodded. It was a moment of shared pain and it was probably the most lucid summing up of what it felt to be a Maidstone fan at that point, with the new ground still 11 years away .

I didn't really know Jeff Hewett, but that's the point. How many people do you really know at football? Some are your friends, some are faces you've known for a lifetime without even knowing their names. Others you know to say hello to, even if you know nothing about their lives away from the game.

I doubt my conversations with Jeff totalled more than five minutes in all the years I didn't really know him. Once Steve Hemsley gave us both (plus Adrian Sharpe) a lift to Tonbridge station after a friendly at Longmead when we'd scored twice in the last two minutes to earn a 4-4 draw with Tonbridge Reserves. At the time we were almost euphoric to be playing in a proper ground, under lights.

I was catching a train back to Hastings, where I was living at the time. Adrian was going back to Worthing and Jeff was heading home to Southwick. It must have taken him hours to get to home games and yet he stuck with the club throughout the County League years, hence his pain a few months down the line when it looked as though we were blowing our chance to get promotion. He cared. He knew that it mattered. And he was, eventually, proved right. It was important.

I'm told that when he found out he was ill, he didn't want any fuss. Fair enough, but his contribution to keeping the club going during its darkest era shouldn't be overlooked. It isn't exaggerating things to say that without an extremely small number of people like him, we would not have a club to support today.

If you can support this crowdfunder, please do.

Generic end of season questionswaire bollocks

Yes ladies and gentlemen we've had to migrate the site, so welcome to our new home and our new look. Just as the club have Shipmanned what seems like half the playing staff, we've had to Pistorius our web design package for reasons that will bore the shit out of you if we go into them. (To surmise: it was Adobe being a BOC if you really must know.)

So here we are, back in amber, with something you might find easier to read on your phone or tablet. During the off season we'll be updating the site whenever we can be arsed, which probably won't be that often. In the past we've done occasional tributes to departing legends, but it'd take us a month to give a proper farewell to everyone who's left JWW in the week and a half since the season ended.

Some will be more missed than others (The Governor's departure was particularly hard to take), but our philosophy is this: departures are inevitable, unavoidable and almost always a cause for regret. If you wore the amber with pride, you're always welcome here and you'll be fondly remembered.

As a brief digression here: whenever a coach leaves it's common for the question to be asked: "what does he actually do?"
Some of you may remember an exceptionally short-lived publication called the Maidstone Adscene, when the lifelong Gillingham fan Peter Edwards (see the Maidstoneisaurus) asked this very question of a man called Wayne Jones. Jones wasn't gesturing enough during matches for the liking of some of the Main Stand regulars at Priestfield. He wasn't shouting things like "seconds!" and "runners!" and he didn't have an Allardyce-style ear piece to make it look like he was doing something important. It wasn't long before Jones was on the Senator Bob Dole.

The average fan (and no one would accuse Edwards of being that) finds it difficult to quantify a coach's output. An assistant manager doesn't pick the team and he doesn't play, so his performance can't be easily quantified in terms of results. The average fan doesn't know if the he's spent six hours on the road to scout the opposition, getting back at 2am. He doesn't know the miles driven, or the hours put in to find players as Peter Taylor did for Brian Clough. And so ladies and gentlemen, without knowing who said or did what, let's pause to acknowledge the part that Nicky Southall played in getting us from the seventh tier of English football to the fifth, and keeping us there. And wish him luck with whatever he does in the future.

The results of our comprehensive end of season questionswaire are in and you will no doubt be as astonished as we were by the findings.

We’ll go through them question by question in due course, but to surmise: you thought the season was worse than a 4 out of 10. You thought Boreham Wood were a “bunch of cunts.” And if you’re a buyer for Bostick, there’s a valuable commodity coming on the market very soon indeed.

On a scale of 0 to 10, with 0 being "absolute gash" and 10 being "fucking brilliant," how would you rate this season?

The average, was a distressingly low 3.86 out of 10. Three of you said six out ten, two of you said one and almost everyone else said three, four or five. It was, as a wise man once said: “one of them.”

What was you happiest memory of this season?

Beating Gillingham was the clear winner in this section, with the pleasure only enhanced by the way some of them reacted. Ok, so the lone invader who tried to cross the segregation line was clearly “a clitoris short of a full minge” but the way they reacted to their equaliser suggested they’d mistaken a Kent Senior Cup quarter-final for a Champions League tie.
The next most popular memory was the 4-2 win at Cheltenham (“fucking sceneage” said one of you and I think we all know what you meant) followed by the 3-1 win at Chester which ensured we’d stay up.
Stuart Lewis joining the fans at Orient and in the Elvis End when he was suspended was popular and one of you said: “Goochie getting chucked out Macclesfield.”

And what was your personal low point?

A rich and varied field here. Solihull away was the equivalent of Vietnam for many who were there. Even our most Panglossian (look it up) supporters were left moaning “the horror, the horror” in the wake of a performance that was apparently even limper than the one Trump gave Stormy Daniels.
Losing 4-0 at home to Boreham Wood was bad, one fan thought it was all too much when Delano hit a corner falg with a shot and Tranmere at home was a personal low point, not helped by the fact I nearly got wiped out by a cunt in a white van driving through the tunnel to St Peter's Street.
One of you said: “When the ref gave us fuck all for Effiong bum raping the big wave. Just makes you laugh that we got nothing for it.”
Then there was: “my mate getting his finger broken by a stray ball in the warm up.”
Another said: “standing next to Dave U at the urinals and not being able to avert my gaze.”

What was the best ground you visited (with Maidstone) this season?

Tranmere, Wrexham, Aldershot and Cheltenham were all nominated at least once. There was one mention of Maidenhead because of “the trains”. The surgical, corporate Milton Keynes got a few mentions, although as Gerry Rafferty observed: “It’s got no soul.”

And the worst?

Gravesend got several mentions. Dagenham’s staggering £21 entrance fee was a classic cockney rip off. One of you said: “Being told I would be denied admission to Bromley if I refused to be frisked. Given the lack of signage specifying this, they were in the wrong. I'm 62 FFS!”
However, the overwhelming winner was, inevitably, the Chateau du Hunter: Boreham Wood.
Who were the best away fans at JWW this season?
The Fylde Seagull got an honourable mention, Aldershot’s were described as “very noisy” and Tranmere were popular for turning up after their game at Dover had been postponed, thus diverting several thousand pounds destined for Uncle Jim into our account. Merci, et bonne chance contre les salauds de Boreham Wood!

And the worst …The bromance with Dover is well and truly over. Their crack squad of Stone Island wearing 14-year-olds, singing songs about the IRA and inviting women to “get their tits out”, proved about as popular as a Marine Le Pen book signing in a Halal butchers. This desperate pack of future EDL members were way ahead of their nearest challengers, Woking, who have a similar problem: half a dozen day-release trainee gammons are Max Cliffording their club’s reputation.
One of you went for the simple: “Boreham Wood, because they are cunts.

Has the stewarding at JWW improved, deteriorated or stayed the same?
No real change here, although the fact that no one called them “absolute cunts” this year can probably be taken as a sign that things might be improving slightly. We are indeed making progress if a man can turn up in a hi-viz jacket and not have it confiscated because the risk of him dying of hypothermia is outweighed by the possibility his jacket might confuse the elite match day security unit.

Was any pleasure you derived from GNFC's play-off fuck-up outweighed by the nausea of knowing that we'll have to play them again next season?
General ambivalence, summed up by the response: “Kedwell’s face at the end was satisfying but having to go back to their IKEA/Holiday Inn shithole is a terrible thought. They’ll only beat us again too.” 

What's more terrifying, the thought of a Trump-triggered nuclear annihilation, or the sight of a dozen Dover fans clad in burberry, rampaging through the 'Stone?
We remain hopeful that a deal may yet be struck where Trump’s supporters and Dover’s yoofs are the only victims of some kind of Mutually Assured Cuntaggedon.

Do you think Medway Council's decision to sponsor the 01634s is an outstanding deal for the local taxpayer, or tantamount to flushing thousands of pounds of hard earned cash down the Junior Hoillet?
“I don't live in 01634, don’t fucking care how on what they spend the tax payer money. If they dont like it riot, that should help promote the hovel.” 

Who has the more difficult job, Jim Parmenter's hairdresser or Danny Hunter's PR manager?
Responses to this ranged included the slightly biblical: “The Hunter: he is an abomination,” and the idea of his PR man struck most of you as being about as appealing as being Norma Tebbit’s fluffer. One of you, somewhat cruelly, said: “Saunders’ dietician, he is getting porky.” There was a widespread acknowledgement that Uncle Jim’s hairdresser is an artist. A word that’s been used to describe Jim himself in fact, albeit in a slightly different context.

Competition time: how much glue will Danny Kedwell make using the latest industrial practices?
One of you was sensible enough to point out that “he might yet end up back here.” Another thought we were being too harsh on him (yeah, sorry) and yet another remembered him as a pacy winger who played for us when Jim Ward was in charge. Most of you said anything between 2 and 300 million metric tonnes.