I have had an interesting couple of days, mainly courtesy of seeing my friend Paul (who lives in Barons Court) and meeting the chaps he drinks and plays in a band with.

I have always regarded Paul as one of my ‘new’ friends as I met him (through work) in 1994. Sadly, I often think 1994 for was about three weeks ago and it is only when it dawns on me that it was 22 years ago, I wonder if Paul should now be promoted to ‘an old friend.’

In the road I was brought up in (Shyshack Lane) it was widely regarded by Dave Hemmings and Dave ‘Scut the Gut’ Scutter, that you weren’t accepted as a local or indeed a friend until you had known them for at least 20 years. When old Scut acknowledged me for the first time, it had me glowing with pride, and when he bought me a pint in The Cricketers, I felt quite overwhelmed that this man of no words or acknowledgement had finally accepted me.

Some people get overwhelmed by meeting The Queen, for me it was having a pint of Courage Best with ‘Scut the Gut’.

Sadly, Scut met his maker soon after he had finally befriended me. His death was courtesy of his heart finally giving in to carrying a 25 stone gut that used to balance on his garden gate as he watched the world pass by. They don’t make people like Scut anymore, I think they must have been eradicated in some sort of secret government eugenics programme.

So, I will now call Paul an old friend, as he has now passed the 20 year Shyshack test.

When we were out last night, I was delighted to meet Paul’s friend and lead guitarist in his band. He is a journalist for BSKYB who has previously worked for The Mirror, The Times, The Mail and various local rags. I have never met a hack before and after recovering from my rabid jealousy of him having a career that I had always dreamt of, I found him good company.

Remarkably, despite working for a plethora right-wing organisations, he was something of a socialist with what I would regard as slight air of bitterness towards The Guardian, who with the air of left-wing self-righteousness that I can’t stomach, would never employ him because of, somewhat ironically, his working class background. The Guardian like to defend the vulnerable and those without privilege, but it would appear they wont work with them.

Anyway, when the discussion meandered on to politics, old Jezza Corbyn inevitably came up in the conversation. What we essentially but perhaps not wholeheartedly agreed, is that with all good intentions placed to one side, Corbyn is a pretty hopeless leader when operating from the dispatch box.

This is not because he tends to stutter and clam up when speaking, which could be deemed as quite endearing in a country that loves an underdog, but because of his constant ability to allow the Conservative government to kick crisis after crisis “into the long grass”. He looks like a tennis player standing in front of a forehand smash before, inexplicably, forgetting what to do.

After half the front bench abandoned ship, joined the Brexit teams, or resigned over disability benefits, anyone worth their bacon would have destroyed Cameron and Osborne, a pair of upper class clowns who, despite getting virtually everything wrong, politically and fiscally, remain totally unscathed.

Tony Blair (who has remodelled himself as the world’s most evil man) would have absolutely ripped Cameron and Osborne to pieces and in all likelihood, they would have been driven to falling onto their respective swords as Boris Johnson sat in Timpsons patiently waiting for the cutting of his keys to Number 10.

You can have all the good intentions in the world, but if you have not got the charisma to drive home your ideology, ultimately you will find yourself pissing into a force 10 gale.

Which is why, in my world, the fall and fall of football manager, Nigel Adkins, has been such a source of fascination.

The first time I saw Nigel Adkins interviewed (as Scunthorpe manager) I genuinely thought I was watching a David Brent (The Office) type mockumentary. I couldn’t believe how someone who talked like some sort of evangelist 1980’s school teacher could command respect over footballers.

Many of you might remember those nauseous teachers who wanted to be your friend and insisted you call them by their Christian names; that is what Adkins is like.

Anyway, remarkably, despite his overt positivity and the ability to talk in the present tense in post match interviews, Adkins was incredibly successful for a while, guiding Scunthorpe to heights they had never dreamed of, before achieving successive promotions with Southampton, albeit with a team built by Alan Pardew.

Pardew was sacked by Southampton because he had affairs with all the players wives. I know that because a friend of mine who supports Southampton knows the cousin of one of the programme sellers who used to speak to the admin clerk of the ticket office who once met a distant relative of former Saints player, Ken Monkou, who reckoned Pardew was at it like a demented rabbit.

Anyway, as is the norm, when Akins got found out at Southampton (for being a clown, not a player’s wife molester) my team, Reading FC, took him and I subsequently refused to renew my season ticket. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop me hearing the present tense post match interviews.

“We are in good control of the football, then they break, they score again and their fans celebrate a fourth goal as we lick our wounds and, despite the score, we control the football match and get nothing; but we stay positive.”

Eventually, the Reading board of directors couldn’t take the positivity any longer and sacked him, employing a bloke who thought it was okay to blow a load of cash on players then talk to a rival club (Fulham) about their managerial vacancy. The remarkable thing was that he was utterly indignant when people questioned his morality.

Reading sacked him, then in act of positivity that even Adkins couldn’t make up, they re-employed the guy they sacked so they could employ Adkins.

Adkins was sacked by Sheffield United yesterday…surely that is the end of him…who knows what will happen to JC?