Inter The Wild

Buenos Dias, thrill-seekers. I’m on the road for a couple of days this week so today’s chunk of gabble, with regret, might have to be rather more condensed- but no doubt as waffly– than usual. Condensed waffle. Sounds like an astronauts’ breakfast.

Rightio. Some kind of Inter build-up/hoopla/shakedown.

A cursory thumb through my copy of An Idiots Guide to Gregorian Calendars tells me that November is upon us; and with it the bastard drag of winter. It’s all down hill from here, folks. The ever-decreasing sunlight, the multiple layers, the gruesome weather reports. Might as well just start taking apart those shelves now and get to hurling them into that oil drum you’ve got blazing in front of the telly. You know, the one that’s keeping you warm since you decided to turn off the meter and save a few quid. Mark Clattenburg may’ve ruined your weekend but you sure as hell aren’t going to let British Gas ruin your Christmas. No, sir.

The start of November also means that Italian glamour-pusses Inter Milan are in town. This very evening, in fact. On a normal day they’d arrive in the Capital with their swag set on overdrive, were it not for Gareth Bale’s single-handed attempt at putting the fear of god up ‘em at the San Siro in Week Three. Which he did to some effect. At least now they might only expect one half of absolute surrender, rather than the two they were anticipating after only thirteen minutes last time out. We might even stretch the Milanese minstrels to an entire game. I’ve got an inkling it’s going to be one to remember. A three-aller or something ridiculous. Worth a bet.

There we go, then. Chocks away. Over to you and your ever-valued input. I, sadly, must vamoosh before the landlord starts asking questions about the large burn holes in carpet.

COYS!

**‘Make the Team’ campaign. A worthy cause. Have a look. **