So having landed back in Blighty this morning after a lovely 10 nights in Mallorca, navigating the various wankers at the baggage carousel who insist on having their crotch as close to the revolving belt as possible (always ensure you smash your your case into the jewels with a "shit sorry mate" - always works) and then navigating the other type of cunt on the M25, we found ourselves home. The door slides to a plethora of unwanted mail. Frantically searching for house alarm fob whilst swearing at the kids the help and stop moaning (such a wonderful journey for all concerned) I was mildly surprised to see the weather had done its best to follow us.
The Mrs is obsessed with the washing machine (for reasons I'm too worried to explore) so that's slammed on sooner than I've checked the sky planner to make sure everything has been recorded as set - lions/glasto etc).
It's then that sanity prevails and we retire to the garden. Thoughts turn to dinner, much like G&S probably turn their thoughts to strikers after exploring their belly button fluff.
We can't be arsed with much. I'm certainly not bbq'ing, after an all inclusive that's seen me eat more meat than Jordan. We agree on cold meat and salad. Now like any man worth his salt, bread has to be involved when salad shows up. This wispy rabbit food shite can't be taking any glory in a fork. It has to be played in a secondary role, behind the main event (cold meat) and sandwiched between something sturdy (bread).
As is my brain, I deduced that lanzini is salad. However, he can't exist without cold meat and bread. Problem at the moment is that the salad is of incredible quality, but the cold meat is spam and only one side of the bread is cooked enough. Essentially, Lanzini is part of a shit sandwich.
We can bounce around names of strikers until my full spin has finished (which it seems is over 3 'kin hours) but it matters little unless they fit into our Argentinian magicians pattern. So I would counter all the striker arguments by just settling out brown eyed boys down with a nice 5 year contract, asking what toys he'd like to play with and nailing it.
He's that important in my eyes.
I tried to explain this to the wife but she insisted the washing machine needed another load. Don't get the attraction myself. Pass the mayo.