Mr Banana
Tedious chump
There I was thinking I'd struggle to find anyone alive at the ticket office at half nine on a Monday. Got a couple of copies of that marvellous tome I once wrote for together and headed down Queens Road towards a gathering queue of people awaiting the opening of the heretofore less hallowed front doors of number six. Ticket office man number one nearly caused everyone seizures by announcing no more seats in the Sarf Stand, which when interpreted through English translated to mean there were only "wing" seats left. Ticket office man number two responded with a sincere "I'm afraid they're not on sale yet" when I said I was after four tickets for the first game of next season – I'm not sure the hilarity of my endless sarkiness always comes through. To the deafening sound of tearing Arguses I managed to clinch a last-minute deal, salvaging tickets for the adjacent Twinkle Toes in the process. Never has that place been more exciting. I could pee adrenaline right now. Good luck to the people working in there this week. At one point I thought I was about to witness a serious assault between anxious middle-aged men wielding emaciated copies of the local rag.