true faith : INCENDIARY MAGAZINE -

That was the weeke that was! The Spuds, Citeh, Liverpuddle.

In a True remonstrance of his Concerne to all Newcastle United followers My Lord Ashley Hath instructed me, his Nieuwe Secretary of Musicke, to compile, threw sources Various and by Means of Free internet browse (free being a Thing that My Lord Ashley findeth Most Felicitous at all times) a Play liste of Songs and Ballades that may enjoynder a state of Goodly Cheer amongst his Wonga-cladde hoste, Cheering them to such an extent that…. WELL FUCK THAT FOR A GAME OF SOLDIERS!

A Garden of Earthly Delights!

The week that hath just passed hath indeed made me wonder, upon retrospect, whether I had not unwittingly partaken of Hemlocke or another such device that hath Made all Seeme unreal and Unnaturally Pleasaunte! Any more of Suche intoxicants and we could even learn to (sorta) love My Lord’s Reev Pardieuw (although one step at a time, it’s akin to trusting a landlord whose previously watered your beer; innit).

To begin with a Most straunge day at a place thatte hath often seem’d a place of Evil and Malevolent Aspect; one in Ye Great Wen knowne as White Harte Lane. This Fowle field is oft attended upon by people of a most Boastful and unpleasaunte Demeanour, and their contemptuous mockery of all Thinges Northern has often got right under my bloody skin kidder. Thus it was Sweet and Most Refreshing to see Sammy and Ayoze knocking in two crackers to cancel out a Woeful and Unenterprising first half where we could have been knacked.

To Follow upon such a felicitous result, a Moste Wondrous victory in the dour and Cromwellian city of Manchester; at Citeh no less, a place previously known for many a depressing day oot, but where skills and Speed and Endeavour on behalf of the fleete of foote Aarons and Sissoko (a man Muche changed of late, as if some Devilry hath made him realise he’s a bloody footballer) gain’d a 2-0 win; much to the bemusement of all, not least your Scribe.

Not content with Reeve Pardieuw did send out a team agaynste Liverpool that did Go Forward with Resolve, and look’d to be nimble and Careful with the pigge’s bladder. And, when press’d by Circumstaunce, Pardieuw did bring on players of Youth and skill like Aarons, and Perez and Frenchy Cabella that did fancy a cracke agaynste ye Scousers. And he did leave ye Sideways passing, crab-like Anita, and ye lumbering Plough horse Gouffran upon the bench. Phew. And whaddaya know? We can win games. Per Ardua ad Astra.

I am Convinc’d this is a week where Drugges most pleasing were let loose into the Starry Most around the Field formerly known as Saint James’ and that they influenc’d my Lord’s Reeve Pardieuw to suche an extent, and Made his Minde change most Forcibly for the Better, that the idea of playing Gouffran in every position on the field regardless, (outside of goalie) did Dissipate away into the Ether as doth the Wind of a Camel or some other ungainly and intemperate beast. Consequently (until such time as My Lord’s Reeve Pardieuw doth Unhappily come back to his default mode of playing 6 left backs with no pace and every semi-crocked player he can) we should Rejoice, Rejoice!

A postscript.

The Scotch Gadfly P. Barclay esquire should keep his Banal Utterances and Intemperate Rabble Rousinges for his terrible Highgate and Hampstead friends who doth thinke he is some workynge class sage made goode; or for some other such place (doubtless full of similarly self-loathing knobshiners) where he is still accepted. In ye words of ye poet Mark E Smythe, Bugger-off, Barclay-ah.

Songes for this weeke of Fun and Frolickes (one extra for the crack):