OPEN ALL HOURS (ALLARDYCE'S GENERAL STORE)

Allardyce, the bluff northern greengrocer placed the last apple on the pile, making a pleasingly neat triangular shape. “Hi Sam,” the voice stirring him out of his reveries was the voice of Ivor Scoop a reporter from the local newspaper.

“How’s the football management going Sam?” Ivor was referring to the fact that Sam also managing the local football team.

Sam’s face took on a similar hue to the bunches of fresh radishes just behind him. “Ffffar fffrom satisfactory. Fff football has changed greatly Ivor. We’ve been pppp playing teams lately who’ve been ppppassing the ball before you can tackle them, engaged in all sorts of ttttt trickery. It’s not ffffair and it’s not ffffootball not as played when I were a lad.”

5-0 then 6-0 I heard about it Sam, grim results, you must be thinking of jacking it in?”

 “There would be the little matter of ffffinancial compensation after all the hours I have devoted to my young ppplayers.”

“Wouldn’t you consider waiving your fee, for the good of the club?”

Allardyce looked extremely pained, rather as if he had just caught young Andy Carroll stealing money from the till. “You watch your language, this is ppppublic pppplace. Don’t you know it is bad manners to use such language in the presence of a man re- arranging his ccccoxes.”
Ivor got back upon his bike and began cycling away feeling terribly sorry for a once great the football team.