Because the other couple of Forest fans in my circle of friends had picked the first two, just as I’d shunned the more popular teams in the playground, I went with Steve Hodge.  As I learned more about the side in the late 80s it turns out I didn’t make a bad choice – hardworking and dangerous both in creating chances, and snagging goals – and a local lad to boot!

Back then I used to fancy myself as a bit of an artist – I’d draw pictures of Forest players, and send them in the post to the City Ground addressed to Hodgey asking him to get them signed – they always came back, too – I’ll always have tremendous respect to him for that, it made my day as a kid to get my (looking back, terrible!) pictures signed.  So thanks, Steve!  I think they’re still in the loft somewhere.

This is quite rightly touted as a chronicle not only of Steve Hodge’s career – but also a tale of the last age of innocence in the world of football – before stupid money came in, before it was weighted in favour of the rich over the poor, when the underdogs could still ultimately prevail – it’s the era of the game I fell in love with before the Premier League came along and made it all a bit shit.

Naturally to us Reds the Forest career (over two spells) of Hodge is fascinating enough, but of course he had a career that took in characters like Paul Gascoigne, Eric Cantona and – of course – Diego Maradona in that game.  That was the game where he acquired the shirt – a proper relic of football history, what a great memento of an admittedly very painful day!

Written in a very engaging style you’ll fly through the pages – and thanks to his habit of diary keeping perhaps the recollections in here are sharper than many similar books which can feel a bit vague.  I’d thoroughly recommend giving it a read – a great chronicle of Forest coming out of one glorious era into their secondary spell of greatness.

For all that though there was a bit of a ‘never meet your heroes’ moments – it struck me that the tenacious midfielder whose play I so admired was pretty impatient when things went wrong, he seemed quick to bail out of clubs – including Forest – when he felt things weren’t going his way – indeed, he spent a long time being abused by Villa fans!

But well, Hodgey provided invaluable service to the Reds, and – in true Brian Clough style – we sold him for £450k to Villa, whilst we went backwards in buying him from Spurs for £550k (£100k less than they spent on him), we ended up selling him to Leeds for £900k – so we made a tidy profit, and of course Hodge got a league championship medal.

It’s only eleven quid on Amazon as I write – and I’d heartily recommend it (then again, I generally do for Forest books!).

The author runs the gauntlet of tackling a tome as both a journalist – and a daughter – with good grace. Of course I’m sure there’s natural enough biasedness in there – but one gets the feeling a subject clearly very dear to her heart is dealt with with a degree of objectivity too. The stories are often very familiar (certainly once the football kicks in), but told from a slightly different perspective.

I was only twelve years old and just starting to fall in love with Forest when Peter Taylor was taken from us earlier than was fair – and given the policy of the club at the time, and indeed, one that remains – it’s fair to say I knew little of his influence at my relatively newly chosen club. Early forays into my brother’s video collection of Forest’s glory years offered clues, my Dad filled in a few more gaps.

However, it wasn’t until the relatively recent flurry of Clough related books and a natural inquisitiveness that started to unearth him properly for me – and since I’ve always felt drawn to him, the unsung local hero who combined so potently with undisputed legend Brian Clough. I think most books tackling the pair are unanimously favourable to Taylor, but perhaps over-simplified him as simply an excellent scout.

Certainly Duncan Hamilton and David Peace in wildly differing tomes offered more than a hint that there was more to the quieter half of the partnership – indeed, the over-dramatising of the film The Damned United had them both with many of the stereotypical trappings you’d associate with a married couple rather than a working pair!

For Pete’s Sake gives us the prehistory of the man before he met Brian Clough, growing up in Nottingham and actually fleetingly representing the Reds as a player before ending up at Coventry and eventually – and crucially – Middlesbrough. This is where the partnership began, although wasn’t to flourish before Taylor was able to demonstrate his managerial prowess in isolation of Clough at Burton Albion.

Of course, the charted path from Hartlepools, to Derby and to glory are well documented – and tantalisingly that’s where the volume ends, with – after bringing unbelievable success to Derby County, they are compelled to resign due to irreparable relations with the board. Not, as is popularly depicted, at the driving of the hot-headed Brian Clough, but at the insistence of Peter Taylor.

Understandably, growing from childhood to adulthood with the backdrop of Derby’s most successful period, the author is clearly very much a Derby fan. That might make uncomfortable reading for Forest fans, there is the necessarily odd ill-disguised swipe at Forest in there – and it will be fascinating to see how she tackles the subject in volume two, where the pair will obviously end up there and reaching the apex of their careers.

However, it shouldn’t be uncomfortable – this is an impassioned re-telling of a familiar tale from very close to the firing line, and it makes it very compelling. Sure, we get the ‘Derby’s a football town, Nottingham isn’t‘ cliché trotted out, shortly before the pride of a father who achieved a trebling of the club’s attendance figures in the ‘football town’- but well, it would be a bit rich of me to criticise too heavily for someone letting their prejudices sneak in to their writing!

Indeed it’s that feeling of reasonable biasedness that makes the passages chronicling Derby’s rise all the more compelling. Suddenly there’s real colour added to matches with real recollections, it is we that are celebrating and not them – it’s really rather charming even though it’s about that team. Maybe I can be charitable because I know already what is to follow!

This latest addition to my burgeoning Forest/Clough/Taylor library comes recommended by me – certainly I am really looking forward to Volume Two! Not just because it obviously tackles subjects with more resonance to me but I’ll be intrigued to see how the author deals with what I perceive to be animosity to Forest – like any self-respecting Derby fan would have, but particularly one who has the frustration of the club not recognising her Dad’s achievements.

The other surprise was that this wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction to the Clough/Taylor vogue underway – much of the information comes from recordings made with Taylor himself before he died, filed away until the grief of his passing was perhaps less raw. It’s a fascinating insight into a man who I’ve always greatly retrospectively admired and offers us a few more layers to the Peter Taylor onion than anything I’ve read before.

You can pick up a copy by clicking here – and I can certainly vouch for quick delivery – just remember to set a few hours aside to read through it as, if you’re like me, you won’t want to put it down!

Of course, there’s been a real glut of Clough-themed books in recent years, culminating in the cinematic release of ‘The Damned United’ – and whether you’ve picked up Duncan Hamilton’s book, David Peace’s or the more recent Maurice Edwards book – you can’t help but have gained a strong sense of the dynamics reported by these authors between the pair.  A real partnership, given the stature of the clubs they managed together – probably the most potent that English football has ever seen.

Certainly in an official capacity Forest tend to fall very much on the ‘out of favour’ side with regard to Taylor.  Not only did he ‘retire’ only to resurface at Derby, he took prized asset John Robertson to the Baseball Ground causing a rift with Brian Clough that wasn’t to heal until after Taylor had died in the early nineties.  Even then, Forest never honoured him with a minute silence nor considered his name in the renaming of the Executive Stand.

Perhaps characteristically I find myself on the fence teetering towards going against the official stance.  Regardless of his movements after Forest, Taylor’s influence on Forest and our historic stature is undeniable.  Indeed, if Forest could as an organisation take Robbo back into their care and affections – then it seems rather double-standardish to maintain and reinforce a grudge which might’ve been understandable at the time.

Maybe I’m just too reasonable – but I would have liked to have seen the Executive Stand bear the names of both the men whose achievements – very literally – built it.  I would also like to see Forest – as Derby have – commission a statue of both men to be present at the ground (I can understand and fully support the Brian Clough statue sited in the city centre, which is testimony not only to Clough’s managerial prowess, but the profile he brought through his media persona to our city).

So I digress completely, as ever.  The purpose of this post was to alert you to a book that is about to be released telling very much the Taylor side of the story.  The first volume might be of less interest to Reds fans since it charts his life up to and including his time at Derby, with a second volume picking up where that left off due next year.  It’s been written by his daughter, Wendy Dickinson and former journalist Stafford Hildred.

If you order now, you can get it delivered for a discounted £15 rather than the recommended price of £17.99 – and whilst of course it doesn’t quite reach the full heady heights of Peter’s time at Forest – it’s worth remembering that he is a son of Nottingham, and will include chronicles of his time growing up in our fair city.  Something we could do well to remember when we consider his rank of local hero – in a birthright sense as well as his achievements.

I’ve placed my order and look forward to having a read – I’m sure I’ll feel compelled to impart what wisdom I might glean from it in due course, and – much like when I went to see The Damned United (which I found a lot more palatable than the book) – it will surely whet the appetite for what we know is to come in the second book.  Obviously I’d be – as ever – very interested to hear your thoughts!

Being a fan too young to have had the pleasure of seeing Kenny representing Forest, it perhaps has less resonance for me than some of you who will have real memories of some of his antics.  I avidly consume Forest books, and this was an entertaining read courtesy of the big fella.

Anyone who’s had the pleasure of hearing Kenny speak at ‘Evening with’ nights or after-dinner speaking (or indeed, those of you who might’ve actually met him!) will know he’s a witty fellow, very dry and sarcastic – which is ace.  And that shines through in the book, this isn’t an overly polished ghost-written number – it reads like you’d imagine Kenny telling the stories.

I suppose the only part of the book that didn’t quite do it for was the reasonably frequent descent into listing results in a particular season – but that’s a small quibble, there’s plenty of amusing tales from Kenny’s time at Birmingham, through Forest and then beyond into where I hadn’t realised quite how long he was still playing non-league football.

A nice account of one of Forest’s unquestionable stalwarts in our most successful era- definitely worth having a read – I’m sure it’ll raise a few chuckles along the way too.  Next up is the more daunting illustrated history of Forest I was generously given as a Christmas gift.  Can’t wait!

At the same time I bought that book, I also picked up a copy of the intriguingly titled ‘And the ref was called Clough‘ by David McVay.  Normally when it comes to delving into Forest’s past usually I find myself reading of the late seventies and early eighties – but this book documents the achievements of a yet earlier Forest side – in 1959 the Reds lifted the FA Cup for the second time in their history – this book documents the cup run.

It could have course been a non-starter, the very first hurdle for Forest was non-league Tooting and Mitchum who almost caused an upset – indeed, should have done – Forest managed to take it to a replay thanks to a dodgy penalty awarded.  The rest, as they say, is history.  For me it was a chance to remind myself of perhaps less familiar luminaries of Forest’s past – but defintely deserving of recognition from present day Forest fans.

Forest captain Jack Burkett holds aloft his hard-earned prize - judging by the photos in the book, it was difficult to get the cup off him after the match was over!

Thanks to reading Gary Imlach’s book about his dad I had some sketchy background knowledge of that era for Forest – but this book brings it all together wonderfully – and the best bit of all is the treasure trove of fantastic pictures.  Match-action shots from every round – bearing in mind cameramen didn’t have the luxury of modern rapid-shooting cameras the quality of the photography is amazing.

So for those of you who haven’t ever taken the time to learn of these names: Chic Thomson, Bill Whare, Joe McDonald, Jeff Whitefoot, Bobby McKinlay, Jack Burkitt, Roy Dwight, Johnny Quigley, Tommy Wilson, Billy Gray, Stewart Imlach, Billy Walker and Harold Alcock, I urge you to avail yourself of a copy.  Did you know Forest were the first side to win the cup with only ten men?  It was also the first time the winning team completed a lap of honour after an FA Cup final.

It’s a great story – made completely compelling thanks to the wonderful collection of pictures and reproductions of contemporary advertising and memorabilia from the time.  One of the many historic battles that have been taken place at Wembley Stadium a little over fifty years ago now, when football was a very different game indeed.  I won’t spoil the bit that amused me most – but imagine the health and safety furore if a team celebrated their homecoming in the manner that Forest did in 1959!

Better still, Dave has kindly written a small piece for the blog about the dilemma of naming the book and his background:

The number of people who have made favourable comments about the title of the book has been quite staggering – if only they knew!

Once I’d established the idea that trying to compile a collection of Cloughie stories was a good one, I mused over a working title.

Obviously, you try to come up with something that sets it apart from other books on the great man and yet still captures the essence of the whole thing.

Then it came to me – 100 BC. Surely that would be a winner. I liked it straight away and, barring any other flashes of inspiration, decided virtually from day one that would be the way I would go.

It had a nice ring to it – the only problem was if I didn’t manage to assemble a whole century of Cloughie stories. After all, how many personalities football or otherwise lent themselves to one hundred tales or anecdotes?

I vowed that the very second the stories showed any signs of duplicating I would call a halt and if it had to be 82 BC or 77 BC then so be it. I still liked the idea behind the BC part of title and was happy to stick with it whatever figure I finished up at.

It quickly became clear that hitting a ton wasn’t going to be a problem (surprise, surprise!) and so the book grew under a working title of 125 BC and so on . . .

At 150 I really had to start thinking about bringing it to a close although I was aware there were still a whole host of people I hadn’t got hold of.

In essence, that’s it. I stopped at 150 and reluctantly ‘pulled’ a further 20 or so that I had. I was happy that the content satisfied the criteria of a decent sized book and wasn’t repetetive.

And so, there it is. The finished article ‘150 BC: Cloughie the Inside Stories‘ and, at the risk of sounding smug, I am very pleased with it.  It’s a kind of jigsaw where the reader can build up his or her own picture without the author/narrator preaching to them.

I was happy that it might just give an alternative side to the darker aspects portrayed in The Damned United or, for that matter, certain sectons of Duncan Hamilton’s Provided You Don’t Kiss Me.

I thought the Damned United was a horrible book, though I know many who really enjoyed and even think it didn’t portray Cloughie in a bad way. I can’t see that, but that’s just my take on things.

Let’s be straight, he could be an awkward cuss and prided himself on it more often than not.  But there was a generosity, warmth and humour about him that I honestly don’t think other books have always got over.

I know Duncan personally and he chose to do his in a certain way and I chose to do mine from a slightly different take. Neither is right or wrong. You pays your money and you takes your choice.

What was nice was that nearly all the people I interviewed were more than happy to give up some of their memories for the book and many that I have seen since it came out have been complimentary.

I’m sure I’ve gone on long enough, but if anyonedoes have any particular questions that they would like answering, I’d be more than happy to do so.

All the best to you die-hard Forest fans and let’s hope it isn’t too long before the City Ground is playing hosts to the likes of Manchester United, Liverpool and the likes again.

Dave.

Anyone else find the above a rather tantalising almost-admission that we could see a sequel of more stories? Anyway, I digress – how to you win a copy of this fantastic book?

To be in with a chance of winning a signed copy of the book, please email me the answer to the following question: What was the name of Brian Clough’s faithful Golden Retriever? Send your entries to nffcblog@yahoo.co.uk and please include your postal address, and whether you would like Dave to inscribe a particular message in the book.

Entries will close on midnight 28th October, and Royal Mail strikes permitting hopefully we will be able to arrange delivery in time for Christmas!

Given the lack of football aside from extortionate grainy internet streams of England’s defeat against Ukraine, it seemed as good a time as any to start getting stuck into 150 BC: Cloughie The Inside Stories compiled by Dave Armitage.  The author, a journalist who worked many years with Clough, has basically utilised his stella contact list to create this ‘from the horses mouths’ compendium of Clough anecdotes.

I’m only about a third of the way in to the tome, but given it comprises 150 fairly short sections I can get enough of a flavour of what the book is about – plus, as I always do, I’ve already had a flick through to get to some of the fantastic photographs the book contains too.  The stories I’ve read so far have been a mixture of familiar tales – and some new ones too, each story also capped off with a classic Clough quote – again, a mixture of the familiar and the new.

The mission statement of the author was that he felt Clough’s humour and warmth were perhaps traits that weren’t aptly encapsulated in other works – so he’s gone all out to rectify this.  Perhaps the nicest story I’d not heard before that I’ve encountered so far was from his former assistant Alan Hill.

Upon a fall-out with his daughter Elizabeth, Brian wanted to get a dog by means of making up with her (or ‘getting her onside’ as was phrased in the book!) – Hill accompanied him to a kennels where he found a litter of Golden Retrievers to his liking.  The breeder was naturally set to pick out the best puppy in the litter – but Clough insisted on taking the runt, leaving the kennel with it promising it a good life.

The beauty of this book – for me at least – is that because it’s comprised of so many short accounts from former players, friends, journalists etc, it is really easy to just pick up to read a couple more even when you’re pressed for time.  Whilst it’s unusual to review a book before finishing it, I can be confident enough to strongly recommend this one if – like me – you still obsess over all things Clough.

Some of the fantastic pictures alone make it worth it – the poignant image of Clough making his famous thumbs-up gesture to travelling Forest fans at Ipswich after his last game in charge, Peter Shilton kissing the European Cup – or for the more mischievous, him grabbing Nigel Mansell where it hurts during a Labatts promotion – with Roy Keane looking on laughing.

Definitely one for your Christmas lists if you don’t have it already!

The format of the book is essentially short interviews with well known figures from football and beyond; interspersed with recreations of famous (and not-so-famous) footballing moments using Subbuteo players and accessories (and fear not, Forest feature a couple of times!).  Certainly not a deep and meaningful tome, but bloody good fun and nostalgic for those of us who may have dabbled with flicking small plastic men around for hours on end.  Some of them even with the accompanying crowd noises thanks to a record!

Oddly I never really got into Subbuteo at all as a kid, it always seemed a bit – well, limited.  That said, I’m of the age where computers were starting to lure children away from such things, albeit only a ZX Spectrum in my case, and if I wanted some hands-on entertainment (fnar fnar) then it was always Lego for me – however, I do remember my mates who did treat Subbuteo like a religion, and did used to express an interest in the different teams they had etc.

So, should you want to read nostalgic whimsies by David Baddiel, Alastair Campbell, Will Self, Graham Taylor, Jeff Stelling and Clough-biographer Duncan Hamilton, then you can get yourself a copy pre-ordered, or you can enter the competition below to win the review copy that publishers Dexter Haven kindly sent me; once I’ve finished reading it, anyway!  Perhaps it could be a good Christmas gift for those difficult-to-buy-for male relatives we all have!

Right, so how can you win my copy of the book?  I was really tempted to coerce you to set up a famous Forest moment using Subbuteo figures and send me a picture, and judge the best one – but well, I don’t think anyone would do that!  However, if I’m wrong, do it anyway and send it to me!  So, to stand a chance of winning send me the answer to the simple question below; I may apportion bonus marks if entries are accompanied with a beautiful arrangement of Subbuteo players re-enacting Gary Crosby heading the ball out of Andy Dibble’s hand…

The question: What did Subbuteo’s creator, Peter Adolph, originally want to call the game he had invented?

Please email your entries to nffcblog@yahoo.co.uk, including any amazing Subbuteo masterpieces you feel inclined to create.  The deadline is midnight 31st October 2008 – oooh, Hallowe’en – after which point I’ll select the winner at random and get in touch to arrange where to send the book to.  I shan’t promise to reply to everyone depending on how many entries there are – so if you don’t hear from me early in November, then you haven’t won!

Also, whilst I’m here and posting – Kenny Burns and Garry Birtles inadvertently helped me past a fairly significant milestone; that of my half a millionth visit.  Half a million visits (and my hosts cleverly don’t include my own countless visits either!).  It makes me feel very gratified that so many of you kindly grace the site with your presence – sincere thanks.  I only feel a bit reticent that I’ll have to start writing about present-day Forest again at the weekend!

Firstly, it’s a good book – I tried to suspend my judgements, my feelings, my fears that it would try to annihilate my hero, and judge it on it’s own merits.  It’s very important this is fiction woven around true events, those 44 days, as well as flashbacks to time spent at both Hartlepools (as they were back then) and Derby County – all told through a narrative purported from Clough’s mind.

I do think that Clough is portrayed quite one-dimensionally – if it were the only reference material you had on him, you’d think he were an unjustifiably arrogant chain-smoking person with a drink problem and a severe case of Tourette’s syndrome, not to mention a strange fixation with losing his watch.  You would think him embittered and obsessed by Don Revie, and you would think him an insecure and weak-minded person hopelessly out of his depth when managing a team who should have been doing much better than they were.

It got me thinking to the kind of self-narratives I sometimes have though, and if I were to write them down and read them back, I would probably not think them a fair reflection on my true self either.  I have no idea whether David Peace has a more sympathetic view of Clough than his caricature portrays, but certainly the thoughts we all have from time to time might not be quite as rational and pride-inducing as those that we choose to externalise either in writing or conversation.

Certainly Peace packs the book with facts as well as fiction, told in a time-line story in sync with a time-line of past achievements – and it’s interesting and compelling reading.  I struggled with the repetitive nature of Peace’s writing, he repeats phrases constantly – although perhaps his 44 days at Leeds felt like a monotonous and repetitive cycle of difficulty.  I imagine it can’t have been easy, attempting to tackle a bunch of mature and successful players who you’d spent the last few years slagging off must have been challenging.

Whilst it’s a very poor comparison on so many levels it brought to mind Megson’s time at Forest; attempting to motivate a bunch of overpaid bloaters who’d been allowed to indulge all their bad habits under Kinnear – of course, the manager, the players and the status of the clubs bear no comparison at all – but ultimately it’s a tale of the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time – apparently fuelled by both his desire to escape the obscurity of managing Brighton, and his embittered need to eclipse fellow Middlesbroughite Don Revie.

In leaving Brighton he left behind Peter Taylor; I’ve written at length before how much I feel Taylor’s contribution to Clough’s success is overlooked – and in lacking his ‘right arm’ at Leeds, it certainly didn’t help his struggle.  Of course, we latterly learned that Clough was capable of a second less glorious renaissance without Taylor at Forest, but never was he to rediscover those great heights they reached together, almost with Derby County – totally with Nottingham Forest.

Aside from minor quibbles (I don’t believe, despite capable of swearing like a trooper, that Clough would have oft used ‘the C word’ as he does in the book, nor do I believe he would have drawn such vivid sexual metaphors in his mind for Derby trying to overcome Juventus in the European Cup), it was an interesting and thought-provoking read.  Who knows how accurate the account is?  Not me – I personally choose to take it with a large helping of salt, but certainly it’s a book that is worth reading.

It didn’t leave me particularly emotionally touched, which books like ‘Provided you don’t kiss me‘ and ‘My father and other working class football heroes‘ did – but perhaps that isn’t the intention; so this isn’t exactly a rave review, but it’s somewhat a retraction on my previous reticence to even consider picking up the book – I don’t feel the time I’ve spent on it has been wasted, equally I wouldn’t say it’s inspired me either.  A worthwhile way to have spent the playoff weekend, though!

So it’s made me reappraise him very much – so I figured I’d give you the opportunity to similarly view Mr Brand in a different light!  The article is published here on the Guardian website, and I’ll reproduce the text below for your reading pleasure.

Barwick must atone for the sins of his fathers 

Brian Clough, for all his extraordinary achievements as a player and a manager, is still often remembered as the best manager England never had. I am reading Duncan Hamilton’s Provided You Don’t Kiss Me in which he chronicles 20 years of interviewing Clough whilst, initially, working for a local Nottingham newspaper. I’ve not yet progressed beyond the early chapters so Clough is still in his prime, virile, volatile, passionate and frequently unreasonable.

What I enjoy most about this beautifully written and tender account of the relationship between a nervous young nit of a provincial reporter and a football genius is the sense of genuine proximity to its subject, so that Clough’s obvious flaws seem forgivable and even beguiling, rather than cruel and unbearable.

In the introduction Hamilton recounts an occasion where, whilst he was still in his teens, Old Big ‘Ead viciously coated him off in the home changing room in front of the wet and nude first team effin’ and blindin’ with such ferocity that he feared for his safety while Garry Birtles stared embarrassed at his own nude tootsies. The severity was such that Hamilton assumed that his relationship with Nottingham Forest was finished forever. Naturally, within 24 hours, Clough had called instructing him to get to the City Ground at once and that the argument had been a mere trifle.

From what I’ve read so far this is a wonderful book but I suppose I ought reserve judgement – perhaps in later chapters Hamilton loses all regard for his work and just scrawls slogans across the page in nail varnish, which would be absurd and not altogether unrewarding. What I can be assured of is that Clough will descend into alcoholism and stay at Forest for 18 months longer than he should have which gives even these early episodes a hue of sadness.

I’m a shade too young to have been fully cognoscent of goings-on at FA headquarters at the time that Clough ought to have been made national manager but have strong memories of his enormous and compelling personality. Once, during a non-aggressive pitch invasion, I think after Forest had won an important cup tie, he clipped one of his own supporters round the ear like an aggressive dad. He was a very potent man with an incredible life force and often such characters are sniped at and undermined rather than elevated and celebrated.

In his pomp Clough would’ve been a marvellous England manager – he vibrated on a plane of consciousness that made him a formidable leader but unnerved administrators. It is widely assumed that the reason he didn’t get the job is because the FA didn’t think they’d be able to control him – and they probably couldn’t have. That’s one of the reasons he’d've been bloody good.

If you have not yet guessed that I’m building towards a rather grand fanfare in support of the appointment of Jose Mourinho then you don’t deserve a newspaper and I suggest you take this copy of the Guardian, God’s newspaper I call it, and thrust it into the palms of an orphan who will be grateful of the nourishment. I think that by appointing Mourinho we can as a nation atone for the criminal neglect of Clough’s talent. Mourinho is his natural heir, more than Martin O’Neill, who admittedly played under him, more than any of the potential candidates. Who could be better? Who could inspire a nationwide buzz in the way that the sexy dog smuggler has so effortlessly done? Wenger or Ferguson? Why, they only have one European Cup between them and two full-time jobs.

I read that Brian Barwick, when asked about the likelihood of Mourinho being offered the job, just stared into space and mumbled bizarrely. Well, that’s the wrong attitude, no one ever got anywhere by staring into space and mumbling bizarrely except, maybe, Nostradamus but it is more for his perspicacity that he is admired than his mumbling and staring. Barwick must immediately cease this mumbling and staring and get on the phone and avenge the errors of the past and give us something to feel optimistic about.

Mourinho’s future is yet to be written but let’s insist that it is strewn with leading Blighty to glory. Let’s as a nation embrace unique and gifted individuals rather than suspiciously eyeing them as they subdue unspent ambition with toxic, bottled anaesthetic.

So there you have it, hats off to Russell Brand for a much unexpected commentary on both an excellent book (which I may or may not have plugged extensively before! ), and a solid appraisal on the current situation at the Football Association HQ.