On breakfast

We had to wait until 9am for breakfast this morning - same old tuna in disgusting jelly - it's enough to make you want to phone the RSPCA. Couldn't even get into the bedroom, cos they had shut the door. Anyone would think they own the place. During the week he gets up at 7 or so. First of all he sits cross-legged on a little stool for about ten minutes, just staring ahead and breathing. Then he does some strange looking stretching movements - doesn't half look daft - for another twenty minutes, before going into that little room at the end and pouring water all over himself. Very odd.

She eventually gets up and does something similar - the water not the exercises - then they get into the noisy, smelly, metal box and disappear for several hours. God knows what they get up to. When they get home they are all tired and grumpy and there's something called 'office politics' that they're always muttering about. Why they can't lie around and sleep all day like we do is beyond me.

Anyway, it's Man City at home today and I've been giving Rafa some tips. He really needs to make sure the ball goes in at the right end. Not like what happened against Benfica the other night. I think Rafa got my drift but with that funny Spanish accent you're never quite sure. Shame Robbie isn't playing - he's the only decent striker we've got.