Monthly Archives: June 2026

Jun 11 2026
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Kingsby Town FC

I work with a Mexican and I’m married to a South African, so as far as world cup openers go today’s grabbed my attention a little more than usual. Shame I was on another late-running and overcrowded LNER service to witness any of the three red cards (and two goals).

Really hope the referee didn’t feel like he had to officiate in the style of Trump to appease that grotesque buffoon so that he wouldn’t get deported. I’m not even sure if I’m being flippant there.

As most people know, the real story of the day wasn’t in Mexico. Sure, the King can hold court on a sunny day at Buckingham Palace, but can he do it on a cold, wet Thursday afternoon in Grimsby? Turns out he can!

There are some things I thought I’d never see — the King receiving a Grimsby Town shirt from the club’s foam-headed mascot the Mighty Mariner being one of them. Imagine being the person inside that costume on the day you met the king. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and you had to do it wearing a frankly ridiculous costume. It’d be pretty hard to prove it was you in there when your sceptical grandchildren question you later in life, too.

Perhaps the club would’ve been better off getting an actual mariner, a mighty and revered one, like Captain Birdseye. He can’t be up to much these days, surely. He must be a Grimsby fan (I’ve heard nothing to suggest he isn’t).

It was a long day on set at a TV shoot in London today. Missed the celebrity and watched the body double do some takes instead (it’s a good job I’m not a glory hunter). The studio was massive, I ate too much, then I got drenched walking back to the tube station. This trip has been bookended with drenchings.

I found myself sat next to a a wizened old woman on the train back. At one point I thought she’d whipped out a pack of tarot cards, but it was just a little packet of tissues. I’m not sure I want to know my future, in any case. If something amazing was going to happen, it wouldn’t be as much fun if I knew it was coming.

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Jun 10 2026
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London train trays

The poor guy next to me on the train down to King’s Cross this afternoon was tormented by the drop-down tray in front of him. There wasn’t a latch to keep it up against the seat in front, so about a minute after he’d pop it back up it would fall down again and rap his knees.

In the end he left it down, but he was a tall man and his knees were considerably higher than mine. Having been ground down by the tray, his soul crushed (as well as his knees), the man’s only option was to sleep. The tray couldn’t hurt him in his dreams.

In the moment, you don’t really think of solutions (because there was one, and it was a fairly simple one at that, of me offering to swap places as my knees were safely below the tray line).

But I was still getting over an injustice of my own earlier when the heavens opened and I got drenched by rain and hail (it’s June!) on my short walk to the station. It literally began raining when I locked the door behind me and stopped when I stepped onto the train. As we rolled out of the station, the sun climbed out from behind a big black cloud, which just melted away, and blazed down as if the rain had never happened.

When things happen so precisely like that, it does make you wonder if there’s a higher power at work. You’d think this higher power would rather torment political psychopaths than wind me up, but maybe I’ve underestimated how important I am. Or maybe the political psychopaths have somehow nobbled the higher power, which would be just typical of them.

I also lost the rubber bit on one of my ear buds on the train, so I had to listen to other people’s phone conversations instead of my music. I don’t like to take phone calls on busy trains, but others appear to relish it. One man boasted of eating a banana just before bed and still sleeping like a log, another ‘accidentally’ electrocuted a horse.

What am I doing with my life?

Jun 08 2026
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Sleep reading

Saturday was gala day for Garforth Rangers. When an invited team dropped out late, we took the opportunity to split our team into two (the Vipers and the Raptors) so all the kids got loads of game time.

We wanted to better last year’s grand total of zero points, and I’m delighted to say we did just that. The Vipers and Raptors may have finished fifth and sixth respectively in a group of six, but both teams gave a good account of themselves — particularly against a team from the top division that didn’t enter the spirit of the day. It was like Man City sending their first team to a non-league cup competition.

Some friends popped back to ours afterwards and the kids played more football in the garden before the water pistols came out (it really wasn’t warm enough for such tomfoolery). They traded up gradually until they were carrying whole buckets out into the garden and were basically waterboarding each other.

With the grass suitably greased, more football took place and the conditions induced some appalling challenges from the kids.

Two years ago we got some guys to install a drainage system underneath the turf because it used to get waterlogged almost every time it rained. After Saturday’s artificial watering of the surface I’m now happy to write them a five-star review.

I was absolutely knackered by the end of the day. Basically, I fell asleep on the couch after our takeaway tea, and I think I fell asleep while my wife was saying a specific sentence because I remember hearing the start of it but not the end of it.

It was so weird. I fell asleep once while actually talking (which still gets a mention every now and again) and I’m pretty certain I fell asleep while reading aloud to my son a few days ago. I remember my eyes feeling very heavy as I struggled to see the words on the page, and then I said ‘Cheltenham’, which absolutely wasn’t in the book, and it woke me up.

I looked at my boy, he looked back at me, and neither of us said anything for a few seconds. Then he asked me if that was what was written in the book.

I looked down and didn’t recognise the page I was on. I skipped back at least one whole page (a few hundred words) until I recognised something I knew I’d read. Was it possible I’d read a page while being asleep? How long was I reading while sleeping? Was ‘Cheltenham’ just the tip of the iceberg, or had I been mumbling some incoherent nonsense before it? It was a strange sensation.

No idea why I said ‘Cheltenham’, either.

I wouldn’t want Jill Murphy, the author of the book I fell asleep while reading, to read anything into this — not that she can, in a material sense anyway, as she died in 2021. She may choose to haunt me in my dreams (possibly the dreams I have when I fall asleep reading one of her books. That would be poetic).

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Jun 05 2026
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Blonde bombshell

Test cricket made a welcome return yesterday, not that I (or my TV) knew anything about it until late last night when I came across some fuss over Ollie Robinson and him apparently doing quite well in his first match back in an England shirt for two years.

I was able to watch a bit of the New Zealand test match live during my lunch break today. There during the interval performing some analysis of the morning session was Stuart Broad, standing tall and blonde, looming large over little Mark Butcher and tiny Ian Ward.

When I see Staurt Broad I tend only to think of one thing, and it’s not his 8-15 against the Aussies in 2015.

A Question of Sport has been a staple of BBC output for many decades, but it absolutely shafted us (I say ‘us’ because I was watching it with my wife at the time) in a Mystery Guest round such a long time ago it should’ve been forgotten by now, but I’ve not forgotten it.

Obviously, many of the shots in the round were tightly cropped and taken from certain angles to protect the identity of the guest, to a particular point. We got close-ups of light ginger hair, some ginger stubble, and fair eyebrows tinged with ginger. We ran through every red-headed sportsman we knew, only for the reveal to be Stuart Broad.

Yes, that notorious red-head! (This is something we still shout at the TV whenever his face appears on screen.)

I’m not sure how the BBC managed to take someone so blonde and make him look so ginger. Perhaps, after spending a day shooting both Jonny Bairstow and Stuart Broad (because they were on a budget and were trying to kill two birds with one stone, or misrepresent two cricketers with one quiz show segment), the editing team went all Freaky Friday on us — I’m guessing accidentally, but maybe one of the team had a long-standing grievance with Stuart Broad and so the sabotage was deliberate — and transmitted the wrong bits. It’s literally the only explanation I can think of. It’s impossible for it to have happened any other way.

We must have missed the episode where close-ups of blonde hair, blonde stubble and blonde eyebrows was revealed to be Jonny Bairstow.

Unsurprisingly, neither Tuffers nor Daws (or any of their guests) guessed correctly. The punishment for this crime could only be a letter to Points of View so the BBC could smack itself on the bottom and promise not to make such a mockery of its Mystery Guests, but I never got round to writing one, presuming that someone else would.

The greatest crime in all of this, though, is the revelation that we used to watch A Question of Sport and Points of View while still in our twenties (that and Watchdog, and Homes Under the Hammer).

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Jun 04 2026
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Train door master

I was on door opening duty today on the train, both on my commute into and out of the city.

It comes with its own pressures, which, quite frankly, I could do without. It was a crowded train and I found myself wedged against the doors, so when we arrived at stations I didn’t need I could feel the eyes of passengers wanting to disembark burning in the back of my head, hoping I would press the button for them.

There’s always a moment where I begin to believe the button won’t light up and the doors won’t open. But they always do (apart from that time they didn’t, and I ended up having to get off 15 miles further up the track, and I couldn’t find a taxi that would drive me back in time to collect my son from day nursery).

You’d think I’d thrive on the authority of being the Train Door Master. I know some people who go out of their way to manufacture situations where they can be in charge, but it’s too much like hard work for me.

While dealing with the pressures of opening train doors, I was also sweating over my phone staying alive long enough to show the conductor my ticket. For some reason my battery percentage was dropping rapidly just by me looking at the locked home screen.

That train is never not full. Three carriages and I can’t remember the last time my backside touched a seat on that journey. Incredibly, they sometimes run it with two carriages and leave passengers standing on the platform. What would I do in that situation, with a dead phone and no proof of ticket? Conductors must face that situation all the time.

I wrote a shorter Cod Almighty diary today, covering the topic of Evan Khouri leaving the Mariners. I think he’s the longest serving player (or was, as it now is) but at least he can leave the club with his head held high. He played his part in helping develop my son’s interest in football, and Grimsby Town in particular, so he leaves with my best wishes.

We’ll never be able to name Khouri, Turi and Kacurri together in the same XI, and that’s the real tragedy of him leaving.

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Jun 03 2026
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Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all

While hanging up some washing today (because I like to party) I decided to actually read what was written on one of my son’s t-shirts. As a copywriter, I’m intrigued whenever I see a slogan or a brand line, and I work in reverse to try and imagine the brief.

The brief owner was probably trying to strike the tricky balance of saying something aspirational, or meaningful in some way, while knowing very few people would read it or even care what it actually said or meant.

It’s a tightrope I’ve walked many a time over the years.

A couple of decades ago I wouldn’t have thought to care what was written on the clothes I was wearing — apart from one. FCUK knew what they were doing, and by extension I suppose I did too when I bought one of their t-shirts a couple of decades ago and wore it on nights out in Cleethorpes.

Firstly, I would straight up wear my son’s t-shirt if they made it in my size. Perhaps the Next buyers haven’t yet realised there are a lot of men out there, just like me, who have never really grown up. There’s definitely a market out there for that. Then again, I thought that about the jaffa cake Muller corners, but they were soon discontinued.

I had to stop myself from going into Next because it was costing me a lot of money. I’d go to have a little browse and half an hour later I’d be walking out of there about £80 lighter with a new wardrobe for my son, and everything in my arms would be everything I would wear myself if it would fit.

It’s fair to say I’m a fan of a floral shirt. There’s a time and a place for them, and it’s usually in the office during the milder months of the year. But I stop short of wanting to be known as someone who wears jazzy shirts. In fact, when it comes to fashion, I’ve always wanted to look the part, but not wanted to stand out in any way. Basically, I want to blend in, but blend in fashionably. Don’t be detected for being too fashionable, but also don’t be detected for being unfashionable.

Has my life been a daring adventure? There’s a hint of tautology in that. Well, I could count the time I closed my eyes while cycling to see how long I could keep them closed without crashing, or the time I kicked the kitchen door in because the spring in the handle mechanism had locked and it was the only way to resolve the problem. I’d never felt more alive. And honestly, if you want to make 10 seconds feel like a lifetime, close your eyes while cycling.

What’s left outside of those two events would, according to my son’s t-shirt, be ‘nothing at all’, which seems a bit harsh.

Who’d have thought that kids’ t-shirt slogans don’t speak the truth. I should’ve realised that long ago when my son (as a baby) wore a pyjama set that said ‘Play all day, sleep all night’.

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Jun 02 2026
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Joy stickers

It’s taken a while, but I’m (we’re) slowly closing in on completing the EFL sticker book.

My son has gone from knowing very little about any football to now knowing which division Burton Albion are in, and that their nickname is The Brewers.

It’s been an enjoyable endeavour and a welcome distraction, although it’s also felt like having a second job at times.

Keeping on top of my swaps has demanded a level of organisation that just isn’t in me. I was born to do many things, but use Excel spreadsheets was not one of them. I’m a creative. It kills my vibe.

Anyway, if (or when) this gets completed, it’s going on my CV. A brilliant exhibition of organisation and communication skills — not forgetting some negotiating skills too.

Ambition, determination, persistence… they’re the sorts of words that get LinkedIn folk all excited.

I’m not sure my son will truly understand the lengths to which I’ve sought some of those swaps. Not only did it force me into a spreadsheet, it also threw me onto Facebook for the first time in nearly a decade.

I bought the sticker book on a whim in the Grimsby Town club shop back in November, and then we found it almost impossible to buy sticker packs because no shop or supermarket had them in stock.

Luckily, Father Christmas worked his magic and found some tucked down the back of a magazine rack in Tesco Roundhay, so that greased the wheels — as did the dozens of free sticker packs I was swiping off tables in the Bobby Moore suite at Wembley before the League One play-off final kicked off.

That was a nice and unexpected bonus in the sticker book journey.

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