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“You know you’re at a tinpot level when there’s no Sutton sticker on the toilet cistern”
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Just as every single non-league programme article must apparently begin with the immortal lines “Welcome to the players and officials of….” so too must every Sunday morning scribe on here begin with a similar, pointless yet essential traditional preamble. So let us begin. Beaconsfield. A fucking village. Tinpot. Hadn’t even heard of it until…
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“I turned down sex for this tonight.”
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Imagine being addicted to heroin but this type of heroin has a high that only occurs once in a blue moon, with a massive come down mostly every time. That’s what following Dorchester Town is like. Probably worse than heroin actually. Yeah, being a Dorch fan is definitely worse than being a heroin addict.…
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“That’s not central heating Tom, that’s the sun”
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When I moved to London, had someone told me that in a years’ time I’d be looking forward to a trip to St Neots, , I’d have had to ask what a St Neots is, before politely telling them to fuck off. But what d’ya know, one year on, a trip to St Neots to…