It's all about no money money money...

Sponsored by Jethro's redeye Whiskey "now with 90% more mentholated spirit".

Well this was a week with transfer deadline day in it so I knew I had to get all my jobs out of the way before I could laze safe in the knowledge I'd not be taking or making any phone calls or receiving darn faxes.

First up I had the difficult decision to accept Doris' kind offer to finally hang up her tea trolley, well at least leave it behind as it's relativity new and is still serviceable, since her op she's not been the same. All came to a head when she mixed up the big bag of quorn from the kitchen and tipped it into the coffee jar. There's still a strange taste to the coffee despite us sifting the stuff out as best we could. Doris' replacement is a downtrodden young lass with a permanent scowl. Perfect for us I thought and despite her constant moaning at everything will take minimum wage. The downside is her militancy over biscuits being some sort of skinny un. We'll see about that.

Anyway I get a few papers signed and mooch about the place. I bump into Neil but all he asks about is money. I tune out - his words are just noise - I've never understood a word he's said, same with all Northern Irish strangely - I just use a few stock phrases and he looks placated, well less red faced anyway. I quickly go back to the office to ring Big Sam to see if he has any tips for understanding accents. Sadly he is busy rigging a South American Presidential election vote. I know he gets edgy when vote rigging, last time he nearly burnt down my office.

Right down to business and the deadline day sneaks up so I was taken by surprise when my phone rang. Thankfully wasn't an offer but I could be sitting on millions by not claiming PPI. I give the nice man the club details but he says we're not on the database but we could be for a small fee. I hear the word fee and put the phone down. Later on, having heard little, I venture out to see if I can sell any other useless bits of office furniture or land or some-such. Sadly I'm co-coerced into making a bid for a player Neil knows. Thankfully Celtic say no and I just shrug and get Happy Sue to get me a nice cup of herbal.

I don't think Smiler is on the same wavelength with my interpretation of "herbal tea". I thought there was a strange taste. Apparently I was found swinging from a light fitting at 20 to 6 singing Barry Manilow hits whilst whirring a litter picker over my head as if it was a medieval sword. Worse still I've signed off on 4 cash transfers and 2 loan deals. Thankfully we cancel them before they are properly ratified and I tell Neil to blame Liam Trotter as everyone else seems to. I think he say OK! A little light headed I get an offer from Mini Whealo at Wigan for Andy Kellett. I don't take the details just say "Whatever you know where to drop the cash by now." and put the phone down.

At 8pm I'm fully compos and go to the drop off point. Waiting for me is £4.68, half a wagon wheel, 43 assorted buttons and a thimble. I've been had again.