Darren Harry has left the building, before his departure he left the third part of his tome regarding his rather strange West Ham United universe...
Thursday 27 July 2019…..11:50…..Epping…blue sky…breezy…warm….smell of weekend in the air…Sully hated working outside.
The glare of the sun on his laptop screen making email unreadable, the breeze blowing his paperwork everywhere, fly in his tea, bees hovering around his wagon wheel, but Mrs Sully was determined he should see some daylight. It wasn’t healthy the amount of time he spent in that office. She was resenting the business, the time that “bloody team” took away from their lives when they could be cruising around the Bahamas. If it wasn’t the laptop it was that bloody phone!
He was at it again, she knew he was scheming something as his toes were moving up and down in his sandals (visible through his socks). “So you think that’s a goer? I mean, I know they wont like it, but ‘ow else do they think we’re gonna buy all these bloody players, I just reduced my margins last year. People wanna live in the real world, see ow 'ard it is to make a ‘pand note. Right, yeah, I’ll wheel ‘im out. He dunno what day of the week it is ‘eel say anything. Yeah I’ll get some old players that are brassic to endorse it too, they’ll do anything to get a round of applause these days. Yeah, do it. With all the Brexit, PM stuff up in the air this’ll not get much heat. Ta’dah”.
With that Sully snapped the phone shut. “Whatch’yew scheming naw? I know that look” enquired Mrs S“Not for you to worry about my sweetness and light, dontchew wurry ya pretty little ‘ed. Now, I’ve gotta go and see the ol’ boy”. Sully jumped up and meandered his way inside his palatial residence, he was proud of what he’d built. The last few months had seen Sully had to make a tough call, his partner in crime, Guld, nearing his 100th birthday, was growing wearier by the day.
Sully had to keep him onside though, as the face of the club, the ones the fans could relate to, Sully had moved him in to Chez Sully to ensure he could manage his daily routine, keep a close eye on what he said, and monitor his twitter usage. He found him caught in the curtain in his bedroom, “Ah, come ‘ere old sausage, whatcha up to!” laughed Sully a dazed and confused Guld emerged from the fabric, hair like Don King “I lived at 442 Green Street you know!” croaked Guld, “Yeah yeah, we all that that one me old mucka” sighed Sully, he sat him down on the edge of the bed.
“Now, ya know ‘ow much we love West’am dontcha, you and me” Sully calmly worded his delivery, “EEEyyyy up the ‘ammers!” exclaimed Guld, “Yes, quite, anyway, ya know how I always have their best interests at heart” continued Sully, Guld remained quiet……he’s probably tired thought Sully. “Anyway, I’ve a new plan to generate more money, we can buy better players, become top 4, champions league! You’d like that wouldn’t you old mate?!”Sully over enthused, “I used to live at 442 Green Street” replied Guld, “I know ya did mate, I know. Now, all I need you to do is read this bit of paper, and we can go over it a few times, then you can tell all the nice people of West’am how this will make us the best team in the land? Capeesh?”
Sully handed him the paper, Guld looked down “Oxygen tax – London stadium 2019-20” -
You couldn't make it up, could you? Or could you? - Ed
