Sorry pal, but number 7 is right next door to Dad's house, and it has been occupied by a couple called Craig and Elaine for about 30 years. Craig has just retired from GM fire service and is doing a bit of trade plate delivery driving now.Number 7 next door Angela was a nurse.
Playing for those red twats does that for you !!!Here's an obscure one. At one time my mother worked with Arthur Mann's wife.
One night, long ago, my then-girlfriend and I, and my mate and his then-girlfriend were in a pub in Manchester. We noticed George Best at the end of the bar, supping whisky on his tod. He looked really sad. Like he was going to end up in the Irwell at closing time. None of us talked to him, but d'you know what? I felt sorry for the guy. Which, when you think of it, was pretty daft given he was a millionaire and got to shag Miss World. It's hard to describe - but it was almost as if he had a cartoon cloud hanging over him. I've rarely seen a bloke looking so fucking unhappy.
I've got that book.Which page?I'm pictured in a book by Desmond Morris, The Soccer Tribe.
I appeared in an episode of World in Action.
So have I.I've got that book.Which page?
No idea, it was at Wembley 1980, West Ham v Arsenal, I'm wearing a lion suit on Wembley way, the author described me as a "phallic symbol", think it means dickhead in posh speak.I've got that book.Which page?
I just loved all the brilliant photos, not sure I ever read it.So have I.
One of my favourite books.
It explains a lot of why people enjoy football so much, and goes into great detail about how the game was started by public school boys and then it's roots as a working class pastime in the Midlands and North of England and also Scotland.
Is that the book with the massive fucking python in it?I'm pictured in a book by Desmond Morris, The Soccer Tribe.
I appeared in an episode of World in Action.
Well I wasn't going to mention my other claim to fame but...Is that the book with the massive fucking python in it?
And a dad with his son on the beach in Brazil heading a ball? The dad has a massive derby.,Well I wasn't going to mention my other claim to fame but...
The author of The Soccer Tribe is Desmond Morris, a world renowned anthropologist.Is that the book with the massive fucking python in it?
In the early eighties saw Alex Higgins in much the same sad state in the old Vine Pub in Cheadle (he used to live in Cheadle) - this was before he got ill, but even then he looked like a tramp off the street propping the bar up.Here's an obscure one. At one time my mother worked with Arthur Mann's wife.
One night, long ago, my then-girlfriend and I, and my mate and his then-girlfriend were in a pub in Manchester. We noticed George Best at the end of the bar, supping whisky on his tod. He looked really sad. Like he was going to end up in the Irwell at closing time. None of us talked to him, but d'you know what? I felt sorry for the guy. Which, when you think of it, was pretty daft given he was a millionaire and got to shag Miss World. It's hard to describe - but it was almost as if he had a cartoon cloud hanging over him. I've rarely seen a bloke looking so fucking unhappy.
Before he died he lived in a flat on Mottram road, Stalybridge. Saw him in a chippy in Stalybridge and he looked painfully thin and haggered. Upset me seeing him close to death because I loved watching him as a kid. Without Alex Higgins snooker wouldn't be what it is today.In the early eighties saw Alex Higgins in much the same sad state in the old Vine Pub in Cheadle (he used to live in Cheadle) - this was before he got ill, but even then he looked like a tramp off the street propping the bar up.
Sorry pal, but number 7 is right next door to Dad's house, and it has been occupied by a couple called Craig and Elaine for about 30 years. Craig has just retired from GM fire service and is doing a bit of trade plate delivery driving now.
You must have your house numbers mixed up, or possibly you have mixed up Warwick Close with Warwick Road. Dad used to get post addressed to 9 Warwick Road and vice versa all the time.