so we contemplate the prospect of grown men hitting the bar,
tackling Becks, diving headers, reaching the knockout stages,
simple tap ins ....... but hey, thats enough of Keiths
antics, weve got a World cup to look forward to and
when it comes to reviving the spirit of 66, who better
to turn to than the RollinStoned, if there's one thing
we know about its re-living the sixties. Those were
the days, I mean you knew where you were in those days, men
in dresses, Cats in suits and as for flowers!.... never mind
WMD, if you had flowers you had the power in our time.....
Interflora would have sorted out your Axis of evil.....we
new how to win a World Cup back then and whats more
Bobby Charlton could have shown Beckham and co a thing or
two about daft hair styles.
shouldn't be mentioning the World Cup really, the band know
nothing about football, Mick pretends to, in order to keep
up the bogus pretence of a genuine working class bloke, but
he'll let himself down, show him some hapless England striker
blasting a penalty into the rafters above Row Z and he's leaping
up and down applauding for a Six. Byron lost all interest
once he realised he'd miss-read an article on what he thought
was England surviving the Groupy Stages. Keith it's true is
a bit concerned about the fate of the England team, but only
because he's worried that if they get knocked out by Ecuador,
they'll have to have holes drilled in their heads.
you're desperately looking for alternatives to the coming
month of wall to wall football coverage, or just some light
relief after ninety nerve-wracking minutes enduring the nations
highly paid pampered best labouring to to draw with Eleven
part time goat-herds from Trinidad & Tobasco, The RollinStoned
will be on hand to fill the bill.
post successful cup campaign and hopefully riding a wave of
euphoria, (or even one of the pigs flying around), we move
on to the Summer festival season..... well I say Summer, thats
another thing.... you know in our day we had summers of love,
not a three month compulsory drought order dished out with
complimentary seasonal umbrellas.......
as the whistle blows, in the immortal words of the Prince
of Dartford over ere Ron, on me ead son.