Week 2: LOOK AT ALL THEM BLOODY ZULUS

Waiting for the Zulus to finish their cups of tea

'Oh my giddy Aunt' as the Chairman's long dead Grandfather used to say.

It was an expression he often used to evince shock or disbelief, usually in a 'You've got to be Joking' kind of way. It preceded an open palm to his forehead and a disappointed shake of the noggin.

Not the best thing to hear if your little self, in shorts and sandals with an elasticated bow tie pinged around the neck, is naively predicting a proud pat on the pate for presenting him, in cupped dirty fingernailed hands, a potato. Dug from the garden after hearing him exclaim that he was hungry.

But then his grandfather never expected The Chairboy [as he was known back then] to have an over-developed awareness of language and totally disjointed logic at the age of three.

So it is of no surprise then that Our Most Gracious Chairman repeated history when he was presented, earlier today, with a Livercoolio 'potato of transfers'. Yes, by the League's current champion: Russell 'Panic Button' Bielby.

We kid you not, ladies and gentleman.

Ignoring Michael Caine's Zulu advice - to wait until he saw the whites of their eyes - Bielby has only gone and shot himself in the foot [thrice] while the 'Bloody Zulus' are still half a mile away in their trailers enjoying a cup of tea and awaiting their cue from the floor manager to cease polishing their spear tips and stitching back their cattle hide shields in order to assemble 30 metres out of shot.

Oh Mr Bielby... do we have to remind you?

It's a marathon, not a sprint.

Having said that, Guy Harewood is this week's sprinter of the week, I mean manager of the week, with a very impressive 29 points - launching his promising young team of Stirling Charges into second place behind our portly pace-setter, Malcolm. Indeed, Fat Mal's Malcademicals doubles last week's waistline to 48 points.

Menarepigs3 fall dramatically, as if overcome by 'the vapours' in a Jane Austen novel, to slump down [forcing her over-elaborate peplummed bustled crinoline to billow ostentatiously] into the arms of the dashingly handsome, though sinisterly penniless, Gentleman that is Thirteenth Position.

And having gone on Forfar [Athletic] too long, we're going to flounce off, frilly cuffed, into Week 3.