Counting the Days 'Til Roland Duchatelet Sells Charlton Athletic

Day 1820.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck..

Day 1823.

The commentator is in full flow:

“And the crowd goes into raptures once again, as he appears on the pitch, and all round the ground the chant ‘ B.O.! B.O!’ goes up. And there, he smiles and graciously acknowledges them all with a wave of his hand. What a year it’s been for this group of players and the likeable, mastermind owner of this club, who many claim is some sort of fucking Visionary.

It’s been a season of record breaking feats for this club. No team has ever won The Premier Inn League (South East) and the Domme Mensen Challenge Trophy in a single season. But this owner has steered, moulded and driven this team with all the blinding dedication, all the care and love that 5% of his time could muster, and the fruits of that relentless commitment are there for all to see.

Many fans have said they knew this year would be something special; from the very first moment that it was announced that there would be an extra chip per portion, they knew this signalled a new intent.

The early signing of the left back, Klaus Von Messageboardthing, who became the skipper and talisman, sent a murmur of anticipation through the terraces, as he was joined by midfielder Frank Semicirclesex and striker, Patrik Fansofa. Though, of course we should spare a thought for the latter, stretchered off the pitch today, having been hacked to bits near the end of the game.

Oh....and look a group of fans have run on to the pitch! And they’re picking up a protesting ( oh the irony ) B.O to raise him on to their shoulders and your coffee’s ready.... I SAID, your coffee’s ready. You’ve nodded off on your bench again, haven’t you? Right, stop dribbling on your rivets, I’ll leave this coffee next to you then. And try not to spend the whole day in this stupid shed, those bins need emptying.”

Well, let’s leave the B.O. perchance to dream, and let’s hope some of our dreams come true next year..
Happy New Year.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...

Alwaysneil said:

Well happy New Year.

While BO doesn’t seem to have got into the New Year spirit yet and effed off, at least the adverts on the page are looking to cheer me up.

Not sure whether there is room for this Bobby dazzler in the wardrobe but what a shirt:

I actually want one of them it’s the sort of shirt that announces you’ve ARRIVED in any room, and that you can actually be seen from outer space.

Day 1825.
Well, another anniversary is almost upon us.
And he’s still here.
Oh fuck...

Day 1826.
Well, that’s another year just about chalked up.
There’s fresh talk of a takeover.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck....

Day 1828 and 1829.
All is quiet in the shed this morning.
Outside, at the far end of the lawn, Harvey the gardener leans on his spade for a moment, and looks round. The place is looking a little better. It has felt like rather a long winter, but there are some early signs of a thaw, and that Spring may, indeed, not be too far away.
The birds are singing again in the trees, and he glances up at them. The singing started to come back and have a bit of life in it as soon as he had got rid of that irritating squirrel on Wednesday, he thinks, one of a few pests that have needed removing.
And then he spots a little red robin perched on a nearby branch with a worm in his mouth. He’s looking pleased with himself. As well he might, thinks Harvey, and with a contented smile, he continues happily with his work.
Well, let’s leave that pleasant scene and Harvey preparing that great big lawn, and let’s hope that that all our gardens, as that chap Voltaire recommended ( sort of ) get a little boost of cultivation in the coming days.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...

Day 1830.
Keep calm and carry on up the count.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck..

Day 1833.
Well, it’s been emotional.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...