Beef Bagel

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Each morning as I brush the bread crumbs from my eyes, I expect to receive the news that Darren Bent is now a Tottenham player. Whether we like it or not it seems as sure as eggs are eggs and bagels are bagels that the 23-year-old striker is coming up to the Lane to make his mark. The most disturbing thing amongst all this was the reported advice from our own Mr Nice, Gary Lineker in his writing in the Sunday Telegraph…

“Working with someone like Rafa would be fantastic for Darren’s development and it would be great news for England,”

…cheers Gal.

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My ears are ringing like a tiny little applause for the gig I’ve just seen. Of course, in reality they’re actually screaming their goodbyes to The Bagel as each minor frequency is lost and this poor fucker is all but deaf but hey, life kills. One has to enjoy what one has rather than fear loss and feel nothing. I’m sure that means something incredibly significant right now but when I read this in the morning, I won’t have a clue what I mean.

The fact is I’ve just been to a gig - The Aliens - all very good and it’s the first break from a menu of work soup, roast work and work crumble that I’ve been dining on for the last month. By God and Ledley King, I needed that. Actually God, can you keep an eye on Ledley. El Cap’s going in for yet another God damn (no offence) knee op. Please bless his joints and make him good. In fact, O mighty one, did you check what they said at the club…

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Oh, come on. Who are they trying to kid? Athletico Madrid may well be going to announce that hitman extraordinaire, Fernando Torres, is up for sale but for the internet nonsenicles with nothing else to talk about linking him with us is just…well…it’s just poor. Not a single bit of evidence out there to say so; no quotes from anyone, not even a brief interview with a man who once delivered him milk. Nada. Dick.

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I tell you the Bakery smells good this morning. Been away from the ovens for a while and had forgotten about some left over sweet and sour take away that’s been happily festering away in a sun beam for the last two days. The orange gloop has actually eaten its way through the aluminium container and the pineapple chunks have flung themselves at the window in a bid for freedom. It’s like the scene of some kind of delivery food massacre. I had to out my handkerchief of my much as a baulked at the site of the corpse. Forensics are coming round in a bit. In the mean time, it’s rounds of toast, a strong cup of tea and good browse of this morning’s stories.

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“As for a possible transfer to Tottenham, I can say that there is no truth in this news. There’s no possibility of me playing in England or Portugal,” Luis Figo.

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It’s all about the fans today and I’m not talking about us. It’s about a Portuguese brother, a man who’s been a secret Spur for a very long time, a 34-year-old man by the name of…

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