thee Sir Gaffer, Knight of the Realm."
It was a long
time in coming, but at a momentous honours
ceremony in Buck House last week, our very own
football agony uncle, The Gaffer, was finally
given the knighthood he so richly deserves.
honest, I thought it would never happen," he
said afterwards with characteristic modesty.
"I mean, after all the trouble I've had with
the Old Bill over the years, and seeing as how I'm
basically living as a tax exile, just jetting in
once a week to clock in at DangerHere Towers and
collect my paycheque, you would think that HRH
wouldn't give me the time of day. At it 'appens,
she was ever so friendly. And I ain't never done a
stroke for charity, neither!"
fifth wife, Babs Windsor (no relation to HRH),
stood by proudly as the Gaffer accepted his
knighthood. Also in attendance was former Buck's
Fizz singer and Gaffer old flame Cheryl Baker. The
tabloids have been afire in recent weeks with
speculation that The Gaffer has been conducting a
secret affair with Cheryl behind Babs' back.
two women gave each other a wide berth at the
cheese and wine reception after The Gaffer's
knighthood ceremony. HRH was whisked away by her
bodyguards after a few minutes as things got
heated between The Gaffer and The Prince of Wales.
Afterwards, The Gaffer explained that it had all
been a big misunderstanding:
I've got nothing against Prince Charles. Nice
bloke, from what I can tell. It's just that I'm
getting a bit hard of hearing. He came over to me
all friendly like while I was downing a bottle of
Dom Perignon 1968 (disgusting, it was - give me a
good bottle of vodka any day). Anyway, he starts
asking me how it felt to have the Queen make me a
Knight of the Garter. With me dodgy ears, all I
heard was "queen", "night" and
"garter". Naturally, I assumed he was
saying that I was a gay transvestite who liked
going out at night wearing garters. 'Oi! Leave it
out,' says I, and gives him a slight push. Just
real gentle, like, to make the point. Next thing,
there's bouncers all over the shop, and they're
hauling me to the exit. I got one of them a good
thump in the boat before Charles came forward and
said sorry and sorted it all out. 'Fine,' says I.
'Just watch that it don't happen again.'
GAFFER'S AGONY COLUMN
Iím a scouser plying me
trade in the North-East. I used to think it was
great up here, Gaffer, but lately Iíve not been
so sure. The locals are giving me a hard time. The
other week, they kept on pouring lager on top of
me head while I was trying to get on with me work.
This really upset me. I mean, what a waste of
lager! What do you reckon I should do?
Pete, I shall answer your letter in pictorial
As you can see, my patented
Gafferware plastic beer funnel is specifically
designed so that not a single drop of lager goes
to waste when youíre getting your pelting.
Itíll all go straight down your gullet. Maybe
then the North-East wonít look so grim any more!
X's Love Conundrum
Can you please tell me the
difference between love and infatuation?
Cripes, Mr X, thatís not
half a tough question to answer! I expect youíll
be thinking Iíll tell you that love is what I
feel for me lovely fifth wife Babs Windsor, and
that infatuation is what I used to feel for me
live-in lover from me 1980s Torremolinos-based
wilderness years, Cheryl Baker out of Bucks Fizz.
Not a bit of it, mate! Iíll tell you, love is
what striker Ahlgli Nk Thrn felt for his country
Vanuatu the year I coached them to runners-up spot
in the East Indian Ocean Islands Triangular
Trophy. Little Ahlgli placed an electric eel in
his shorts for the last 10 minutes of the deciding
game to give himself that extra bit of zip. It did
the trick too, because he got the winner with a
minute to go (we won 10-9). Infatuation is what
poor old Ahlgliís wife turned out to have felt
for him. Left him, she did, after that game, when
she discovered that the unfortunate lad had lost
all sensation in the manhood department.