The ‘Wanker-Owner’ Derby (Cardiff are excluded because they like leeks and sheep’s anus’ plus their owner’s trousers touch his eyebrows) was won with aplomb by the tatty goods stockists work’s team. I feared the worst when King Colo was ruled out due to a family bereavement and HBA was again missing as apparently he had a ‘knock’ which I assume is French for having ‘flair’ according to the gospel of Pardew. Fair play to the spinster mind; if there is one way to divert pressure then nutting a Mackem is possibly up there at the highest of echelons.

He thankfully selected Yanga rather than the fist-pumper in place of our curly-haired leader at the heart of our backline to partner the rock of Williamson (I smell what he is cooking) and was duly rewarded. He is going to be a top player and from the 1^st moment that I saw his face, I was a believer.  We set out with a rigid 4-4-2 and any team with Remy up top will cause problems; even Jossy’s Giants. His movement is sublime but sadly I cannot see his permanent future being with us. Little Vurn started as he finished the Villa game dictating proceedings with similar panache as to how Hitler stretched his arm out. He’s a tidy little player. That’s Anita and not Adolf. Our 1^st goal came straight from a majestic double save by Krul. The floppy-haired Dutchman twice denied Steve Bruce’s son (thankfully for him ‘fatheaditis’ does not flow through their family genes) and quickly despatched a throw to big Mo who in turn started and finished a delightful move by smashing into the top corner with an exquisite right foot hit.

Hull did cause problems and who nose (decent pun that mind) how Jelavic missed with a free header from 6 yards out. Who nose and who cares; the big beaked buffoon. Remy doubled our advantage right on the stroke of half time after he was blissfully played in via a delightful ball from Figueroa. He calmly rounded McGregor before finishing into an empty net. 2-0 up at half time and the cigars were well and truly out (not literally just in case I get a banning order for smoking at the match)

Bang. Straight at the start of the 2^nd half we committed foot suicide. A free kick was woefully defended and Curtis Davies glanced in a header as Krul flapped like a dolphin after it has been dangled a fish. God nose (sorry, Nikica) what the water-loving creature would do if it was offered a packet of chips with batter.

I duly expected Hull to bomb on and take control of the 2^nd half. I was wrong. We regained our 2 goal lead when big Mo (he doesn’t look like his namesake on EastEnders mind) notched again. Gouffran tried one from the edge of the box which was parried by McGregor and our unit; who to me resembles a chiselled RoboCop that has been dunked in tar (“dead or alive you are coming with me”), tapped into an empty net.  Little Vern’s tenacious display deserved a goal and he was duly rewarded with 1 in injury time. Dummett (“I don’t care, Paul Dummett”; to quote Icona Pop) fizzed in a cross-shot which was spilled and the little Dutch fella tapped in. A good 3 points albeit they did miss some absolute sitters at critical times.  The pressure is on Steve Bruce but luckily for him he has broad shoulders which are a very good thing due to the fact that his head weighs more than Nellie the elephant’s trunk.

There are 10 games left of this season and we could make a real go at securing a Europa League place if we want to but sadly the powers that be inexplicitly label that competition as a nuisance. ‘It’s all about the money, the money’ as Jessie J sang in a world where profit is perceived as more important than trophies. The owner doesn’t understand that getting pissed whilst signing the Coloccini song at 4am on a Thursday in the Ukraine is a good thing albeit I wouldn’t fancy doing that at this present climate (no offence to Fabricio there).

Well done lads.

DAVID PAULL