YANNY MAC'S TEN MINUTE FOOTBALL MANAGEMENT CAREER

I'm often asked by desperate people in these austere times, who I think should manage England?
And my reply is always "Kevin Keegan".

With the average weekly wage for a Premiership football player at around £30k + bonuses, it's easy to see why so many of them opt for a career in management, in order to provide at least one meal a day for their families.
In terms of revenue, the Premiership brings little to 'the economy'.
It's financial impact is akin to one of a small supermarket chain like Fine Fare or Gateways.

It's therefore essential that everyone in the UK (including immigrants and foreigny-looking students) get behind our national sport, and support at least two or three top flight teams.
Season tickets can be had for as little as £900;
but if the thought of hanging out with your boss or your local MP doesn't thrill you, a Sky TV package can be had for just a little bit more.
Replica shirts are essential at a little over £50, so it's easy to see why undergraduates would rather get a job than waste their valuable cash on tuition fees.
(More about getting a Ten Minute Job next month).

Bob Shankly once said that football was about believing in life after death, and as a neo-socialist like me, I think he deserves more praise than he gets.
We can't all be Antony Worrall Thompson, so here is my recipe for a short career in football management.

I call this quick-fix special 'Get Your Benefits Out For The Moyes'.


1. Don't let the poor salaries put you off.
Australians eat fruit and salary more than SEVEN times a day, and they are all rich, and very beautiful.
(see Tim Cahill).

2. Try to have a continental sounding name.
Ancelloti, Mourinho, Plopp and Salami are all very exotic, and make you sound a lot posher than you really are.
(David and Ron are quite boring).

3. Add lots of ginger, some oak-aged Fellaini and lashings of Irn Bru.

4. Wear shoes that don't fit you.
Simmer gently.

5. Serve, way above your means, but way below your potential.

Ingredients:

Multi-Billion Dollar US Holding Corporation (essential in 'Soccer' recipes!)
Russian Oligarchs
Media Moguls
Sheep (lots of)
Under-ripe management skills (optional)
Over-ripe players (optional)
A huge dollop of arrogance to serve.

A NAKED LUCY WORSLEY

No greeting cards or service-station flowers
No candlelight or making love for hours
No forced gestures or pink confectionery
Just some tissues, closed curtains
And a naked Lucy Worsley.

Blogging's not for me

I like writing.
I always have.
Blogging seems to be a way of sharing your writing with others, without incurring the financial wrath of the Royal Mail.

But it's not for me.

I've been sitting at my PC for nearly three hours now.
I'm trying to post a blog that I wrote on my dysfunctional laptop-thing last week.
I copied & pasted it (they taught me that at City College) and I clicked on the button that said "Publish Now'.
But it wouldn't publish.
It said I had a funny HTML or something, which I took a little personally, as I often do with personal criticism (they taught me that at boarding school)
It said my HTML thing didn't do 'Meta'.

Now I know what 'meta' means (they taught me that at UEA).
But I fail to see what is so meta about my blog post.
It's about fliers on my kitchen wall, and titting-up other poets.
The classical Greek sense of meta, nor the esoteric English language sense, have any connection with my story, so I can only assume that it has something to do with HTML, of which I know nothing.

I do assumption well (they taught me that at altar-boy practice).

If anyone could inform me of what HTML is, I would be forever grateful.
I do hope I haven't overstepped the literary mark with my meta?