Ballad Of A Paralysed Citizen
We're always third or fourth with the news at the Meat Clinic, but when the grapevine reveals that Wycombe lost a cool (clue: it's not cool) 1.872 million pounds last year it takes longer to digest than one of our badly-made skull casseroles.
One point eight seven two million pounds, it takes longer to say it than it does to say "I lost my kneecaps in Newport Pagnell", which is something that Frank Adams may be muttering in heaven currently (clue: this is less offensive than anything Brian Kane has ever said).
Frankly, £1.8 million is too large a number to comprehend very easily so the number crunchers and bouncing boffins here in Brill Hill (clue: they are the sort of mugs who truly believed you needed a calculator with scientific functions for GCSE maths) have broken it down for the intellectually gigantic SMBU-reading public (clue: our main point of reader access is from public libraries and womens' prisons).
It is £5128 per day, which is not a figure to be sniffed at really. You'd struggle to spend that much, even if you were kitting out an au pair at Bicester Village or you liked to paint your fingernails with compacted drugs. 5k a day is enough to allow us at the Meat Clinic to close down for a 32 week summer holiday. (clue: it'll never happen).
It is £213 per hour, which is about what you'd pay for a semi-decent prostitute who has her own Connect 4 board and underpants that do up at the side. She'd probably let you keep the £13 but why not give it to her as a tip, she is probably saving for something or other, especially with Christmas approaching.
It is £3.55 a minute, which is about what it costs per minute to call certain jungle districts of Uganda on a mobile phone, which is where the PLC board will have to run when they have crippled this famous club once and for all. Even if they hide out forever, though, they'll never escape the heart of darkness that they have left all of us with.
It is about 6p per second, which sounds minimal, like the sort of change you'd find in your back pocket after a lost afternoon playing LaserQuest and winking at dogs but when you think that for the last year, Wycombe Wanderers have lost 6 pence for every single shimmering second that has chugged past on the nuclear clock, it certainly starts to stack up.
One point eight seven two million pounds down the pan, a thousand minds in turmoil and only one way out of this mess. In the old days I'd have gone for a walk in the woods with a service revolver (clue: think David Kelly but voluntary) but I sold it as you can get quite a decent price for things like that these days. Somewhere round here used to be a football club, see you in Weimar Germany for a sausage roll and a wheelbarrow race.
One point eight seven two million pounds, it takes longer to say it than it does to say "I lost my kneecaps in Newport Pagnell", which is something that Frank Adams may be muttering in heaven currently (clue: this is less offensive than anything Brian Kane has ever said).
Frankly, £1.8 million is too large a number to comprehend very easily so the number crunchers and bouncing boffins here in Brill Hill (clue: they are the sort of mugs who truly believed you needed a calculator with scientific functions for GCSE maths) have broken it down for the intellectually gigantic SMBU-reading public (clue: our main point of reader access is from public libraries and womens' prisons).
It is £5128 per day, which is not a figure to be sniffed at really. You'd struggle to spend that much, even if you were kitting out an au pair at Bicester Village or you liked to paint your fingernails with compacted drugs. 5k a day is enough to allow us at the Meat Clinic to close down for a 32 week summer holiday. (clue: it'll never happen).
It is £213 per hour, which is about what you'd pay for a semi-decent prostitute who has her own Connect 4 board and underpants that do up at the side. She'd probably let you keep the £13 but why not give it to her as a tip, she is probably saving for something or other, especially with Christmas approaching.
It is £3.55 a minute, which is about what it costs per minute to call certain jungle districts of Uganda on a mobile phone, which is where the PLC board will have to run when they have crippled this famous club once and for all. Even if they hide out forever, though, they'll never escape the heart of darkness that they have left all of us with.
It is about 6p per second, which sounds minimal, like the sort of change you'd find in your back pocket after a lost afternoon playing LaserQuest and winking at dogs but when you think that for the last year, Wycombe Wanderers have lost 6 pence for every single shimmering second that has chugged past on the nuclear clock, it certainly starts to stack up.
One point eight seven two million pounds down the pan, a thousand minds in turmoil and only one way out of this mess. In the old days I'd have gone for a walk in the woods with a service revolver (clue: think David Kelly but voluntary) but I sold it as you can get quite a decent price for things like that these days. Somewhere round here used to be a football club, see you in Weimar Germany for a sausage roll and a wheelbarrow race.
