Quiet ay it? Am we still alive? Eerie and quiet on the streets around my ends any way. All the old bastards are crossing the road so they don’t have to talk to you and they don’t get Bat Aids. Every cloud has a silver lining, there’s only so many conversations about hanging baskets and empty supermarket shelves you can have. Now of course the situation has warranted great sweeping Government declarations about ‘exclusion zones’ and ‘Isolation’ crap like that…apparently anyway, I haven’t got a clue as I haven’t got a phone, I don’t watch TV and I’m uploading this off the lovely Jo’s internet, she lives across the road. I’m untouched by any propaganda unleashed by the Government thank fuck. I mean remember…it’s the governmentz, they always tell lies. I’m still waiting for the David Kelly murder to be sorted, then the Novichok Nerve agent story…then maybe Epstein. I’m not holding me breath though. But the weird thing is the dreams I’m having…

Last night I was joining in the throng of supporters outside Molineux. It was like one of those Ethiopian famine food distribution films. All grasping, fighting for a handful of rice…or a bog roll if it’s the UK hahahaha.  I don’t know whether or not a match was on just that there was a lot of people milling around. It was like a match day. Busy. I suspect that there was food available a Bat Aids vaccine, because that was the zeitgeist of the dream, slightly threatening, a bit angsty. Then as the crowd gathered outside the Superstore, in the sky a gentle ‘whup whup whup’ of Rotor blades. From the clouds descended a Gold and Black Chinook helicopter with a massive Wolves head on it. We all started to cheer and sing songs, holding our hands up to the chopper. Then as it got lower we saw someone in the doorway. That beard, that Golden Turban yes, it was Manny Singh and we all sang his name out and he started to throw handfuls of golden Samosas into the grasping hands of the crowd below. They filled the sky, there were thousands of them. Children were smiling, men laughed with mouth fulls of crumbly pastry and the odd pea and onion. Manny ar. His beard was whipping around like a crackheads eye in someones shed. Then Manny leaned out of the doorway hanging onto a bit of rope and shouted through a loud hailer “Don’t give Petalengro any! He ay got enough Loyalty points!” he shouted. Then the crowd started to boo and hiss at me as I had shoved two or three in my pockets for ‘Ron’ and the other I was cramming in my face. For fucks sake…the other day I swore I saw Conor Coady wrestling with a load of Amazon boxes in the back of a white van outside the house. Cold Turkey this is mate. All that sexy football slathered all over us for a good part of the year then it’s yanked away just like that. At least the Italians have free Pornhub…I wonder how long it will take to fap through the standards and they get to GILF Lesbians. Makes you think. Those Italian dudes will be coming out of their Council Villas with massive right arms and a new respect for Grannies. 

Now the footballing zeitgeist is flowing this way and that. Stories are flying around everywhere as to whether or not the season will be started again, whether or not the points will be tallied up and used to conclude the season. The Euros are off, the Olympics, Europa League might still be played…it’s all in flux, all change by the minute. Wolves are wondering whether or not to stop group training sessions at Compton. Now that’s a serious issue of course. How do you keep twenty odd blokes combat ready? How do you offer them an ‘out’? Without a game? The team must be going off their tits being stuck in their funky but ultimately soulless apartments dotted around the nicer ends of Wolvo.

Being a Pro-Athlete means you don’t really have the time to nurture other interests and hobbies to fill the void that a lack of football can bring. I think that’s why you get footballers from other clubs doing Nox balloons and fucking stupid videos of them chonging the arse off some tart they picked up in a club where the drinks haven’t got a price list. They have a void for sure but so do we…but them? Keeping themselves physical and edgey is going to be hard. I think Moutinho should be waxing some mature lyrics to some of the other players especially the younger ones. Maybe it’s a good time to work on those areas of their games they fancy working on. Maybe pinging things with their left feet or the weaker one. Maybe seeing how high they can jump. Jesus Christ I don’t know I’m not a Coach but they need something and fast.

Now you wont see Wolves players doing any of the above crap on Instagram. The Fosun groove and the Nuno stuff means that weird dysfunctional crap like balloons ain’t going to be an issue…but there is a definite kick down of gears and it’s going to leave our heroes in a very weird place for some time. Add to that particular madness some of the rumours going around the streets and social media and it’s a wonder people haven’t had full on meltdowns. I’m always an Observer, that’s what I do best just observe and report. I’ve seen a few fist fights in Aldi and Boots, I’ve watched two fat chicks rolling around the car park at Bentley bridge pulling each others weaves out, I watched someone get run over outside Pure Gym. Chaos and madness my friends. Over fuck all really. I know a few people that have had ‘symptoms’ and they are having a bloody good moan about it which means that it’s not too bad for them. Others are waxillating lyrics of pure full fat wax about rumours. People floating dead in the canal by New Cross Hospital, people dead in their cars in the car park, thousands of dead…oh man you name it and I’ve heard the rumour. This Bat Aids thing is drawing out the fucking crazies for sure.

But on the one hand Fosun seem to have got a handle on the whole thing. This morning Uncle Jeff has given the medical staff of New Cross a lorry full of safety gear, masks etc. That’s nice of him isn’t it? Good PR shit too. I’m glad nobody at the club started to round up a few players for a photo opportunity, masked up, rubber gloves, gurning at the camera. Uncle Jeff is rapidly becoming a sort of Father Xmas character to us Wolverhamptonites. Sexy expensive football players, masks, PPE gear. I’m half expecting to look out of my bedroom window one of the mornings and see Jeff walloping the Hover Mower around for me in the garden. Fair play Jeff. In fact he’s been around a lot over the past couple of weeks our Jeff…thinking about it any way. Hadn’t seen anything for months and then three come along at the same time.