Jah Lush

Moaner or not. I think Sir Alex Ferguson deserves some respect here. His record speaks for itself. He'll go down in history as one of the greatest managers of all time. No one and I repeat no one even comes close to repeating what he has achieved at first Aberdeen and then at Manchester Utd. As a manager I don't think his record of 29 major trophies will ever be beaten.

Awopbopaloobopalopbamboom!

I like Jamie Carragher. He's one of those players who would go through walls for his team-mates, much the same as John Terry does at Chelsea. If I can pick out one performance that summed him up and I think it's the best I've ever seen him play, it would be his performance in the European Cup Final of 2005 against AC Milan. The guy was obviously suffering from cramp and was completely knackered towards the end but still continued to hurl himself into the tackles. I thought he was fantastic that night.

Your Name: Jah Famous Artist/Band/Musician: Jeff Beck 4 letter word: Jizz Vehicle: Jeep TV SHOW: Jeeves & Wooster City/Town: Jarrow Boy Name: John Girl Name: Janie Occupation: Journalist Something you wear: Jeans Celebrity: Joan Collins Food: Jerk chicken Something found in a kitchen: Jam Reason for Being Late: Jousting participants collapsed apparently dead in the middle of the road causing a traffic jam.

Ooohhh-wheee, look at me looking for some sympathy It's the same old story - - of a man and his search for glory and he found it, there underneath the bottle Things are never good, things go from bad to weird hey gimme another scotch with my beer I'm sad to say - - I feel the same today as I always do gimme a drink to relax me Ooohhh-wheee, liquor set free I can't do no work, the shake's inside me Ahhh, shucks I got the lousiest luck, I'm sick of this underneath the bottle Seven days make a week, on two of them I sleep I can't remember what the heck I was doing I got bruise on my leg - - from I can't remember when I fell down some stairs, I was lyin' underneath the bottle Ooohhh0wheee, son of a B. you get so down, you can't get any lower So long world, you play too rough and it's getting me all mixed up I lost my pride and it's hiddin' there underneath the bottle

Tourettes Society's Bonfire Night Out Rude word warning on the attachment - The Administrator

Careful what you wish for you just might get it, and you got it. Well done. Welcome to the rat race CWALD. I sincerely hope you get plenty of job satisfaction and you're as successful as you want to be.

It's just that social life It's got you on the run That goddamn social life It's torture dressed as fun It's just that social life They got you chasing strings That goddamn social life and now you're seeing things

Dancing madly round the room Singing loudly and sorta' out of tune Was escorted by a friendly slag Round the bedroom and back Wandered across to the door Missed my step and I fell on the floor. Said one word and was asked to leave Kinda' wish I was dead.

Now skin and bones sinks easy on the high tide And I'm not one for castles in the sand I've seen a girl I once knew from the East Side I think I spy a bottle in her hand

You know I've tried so hard to keep myself from falling Back into my bad old ways And it chars my heart to always hear you calling Calling for the good old days Because there were no good old days These are the good old days

Man City 2 Sunderland 1

They've got womanly breasts under pale mauve vests Shoes like dead pigs' noses Cornflake packet jacket, catalogue trousers A mouth what never closes

I know there's much more to life than the physical side I should put these thoughts on hold But when she's buttering my baguette My blood runs hot and cold

O My O My What a wretched life I was born on the day That my poor mother died I was cut from her belly With a Stanley knife My daddy did a jig With the drunk midwife

I'm sorry about all your friends I hope they'll speak to me again I said before I'd pay for all the damages I'm sorry it's just rotten luck I'm sorry I've forgotten how to f**k It's just that I think my heart and soul are kind of famished

Brockwell Park in Herne Hill tonight. Might pop into the Half Moon afterwards where there is a Clash tribute band playing.

John Willmot, penned his poetry riddled with the pox Nabakov wrote on index cards, at a lectern, in his socks St John of the Cross did his best stuff imprisoned in a box And Johnny Thunders was half alive when he wrote Chinese Rocks

Later on we smoked a pipe that struck me dumb And made it impossible to speak As you closed in, in slow motion, Quoting Sappho, in the original Greek

You spurn my natural emotions You make me feel like dirt And I'm hurt And if I start a commotion I run the risk of losing you And that's worse

Quit work and live a life of leisure.

West Ham 3 Bolton 1

You're only 29 Gotta a lot to learn but when your mummy dies she will not return

Showing a bit of passion when you're watching your team is only natural, so why be embarrassed about it. We all do it.

I get your point perfectly Nero. I heard you the first time and you are correct in what you so say about the columnist.