Counting the Days 'Til Roland Duchatelet Sells Charlton Athletic

Day 1671.
He's still here.
Oh fuck.

Day 1672.
He’s still here.
Oh waste disposal fuck...

Day 1674 and 1675.

It is another Saturday morning in the shed, and Mrs B.O. has just arrived with the B.O’s morning drink once again.
This morning, he looks at her fondly.
“ Ah, thank you my darling!” he says warmly. “ Getting colder isn’t it? Soon Christmas shall be upon us! Time for the season of goodwill! Time for merriment, dancing, and a stolen moment or two under the mistletoe!”
Mrs. B.O. gives a sudden silent shudder and looks close to fainting.
The B.O notices.
“ Oh darling, are you cold?” he says, with concern.
“ No, I’m fine,” she says flatly.
“ Well, maybe Father Christmas will bring you a nice winter coat this year! You never know!” says the B.O with an enigmatic smile, that somehow reminds Mrs B.O. that the shower head needs replacing.
“ Whatever happened to that lovely coat, I got you two years ago, anyway?” asks the B.O.
“ What, you mean, the donkey jacket that had ‘STEWARD’ written on the back?” replies Mrs B.O.
“It was a brand name!” says the B.O indignantly, “ It was specially imported from London!”
“ Oh yes, the one they found in THAT laundry basket.” replies Mrs. B.O.
“ Anyway,” says the B.O hastily “I bought you a very expensive present last year!”
“ Yes, you did.” agrees Mrs B.O. staring at him. “ You bought me an incredibly expensive state of the art coffee machine.”
The B.O. nods, with a tender smile.
“ Yes, I did.” He says softly.
Mrs. B.O eyes him coldly.
“ But I don’t drink coffee, do I?” She says, and with that she turns and leaves, shutting the door firmly behind her.
The B.O stares at the door for a moment, then shakes his head slowly.
Women, he thinks, who can understand them? Almost as irrational as football supporters, he muses, until he suddenly chokes on a bit of ameretto biscuit, which goes down the wrong way.
Let’s leave the B.O gasping for air as he contemplates things he does not really understand.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck..

Day 1676.
Nice win.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck..

Day 1677.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck.

Day 1678.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck.

Day 1670.
He’s still here.
Oh long time fuck..

Addickted2TheReds said:

Sorry to say but by my reckoning today should be day 1690...

The Visionary can’t even make a success of a simple count ( no Fraeye jokes please )
Oh fuck...

Good morning
According to the weekend computations at 3blokes Towers, allowing for wind and seasonal drift, I think a count correction is due as follows-

Day 1795
He’s still here.
Oh fuck..

(That’s 256 weeks, 59 months of all this)

Day 1797
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...

Six-a-bag-of-nuts said:

Isn't it time to change the thread title to Counting the years..
Save yourself the daily grief and post just once per annum

That made me chuckle
It does seem pretty pointless at times BUT I’ve sort of got into a routine with it now, I wake up, check the news, post up the count and then go downstairs to be annoyed by the kids arguing over their breakfasts
His tenure seems more absurd and pointless by the day to me, it has achieved nothing of note, and daft as it seems, he just seems too stubborn to admit it.
Well, we can be stubborn too.
I am just waiting for the moment I can say he’s fucked off, so that I can finally go back to building that 15ft submarine out of matchsticks that’s been sitting in the garage all this time.