13th March 1999
Pissed off this morning.
Arrived at the studio to find a letter in the internal post tray addressed to “Des Linesman.”
Des. Linesman.
Now I’m not normally one to dwell on these things, but it’s the sort of mistake that stays with a man. I’ve presented the programme for years. Years. And somehow, somewhere in this building, there is a person who believes my surname is Linesman.
I’ve put the envelope on the desk for now. I intend to identify the culprit.
Anyway. Back to business.
Full calendar of Premiership fixtures today which is far more like it — football everywhere you look, proper Saturday rhythm restored. Quite enjoyed Derby beating Liverpool 3–2 as well; that Deon Burton lad looks like he’s going places, grabbed another today and looked sharp.
Never been a fan of the Scousers though.
Not that I’m bitter — I’m absolutely over it — but I did once get sold fake tickets for a Beatles show at the Cavern Club. This was back in the 60s. Bloke claiming to be their PR manager. Caught me on Mathew Street after a few too many pints of the black stuff.
I was promised a private showcase but it turned out to be two tickets for Everton vs Blackpool from the previous season. Already played. Completely useless.
Not that I’ve held onto it or anything. Ancient history.
Still.
Anyway, I must dash shortly as Woolworths closes early and I’m hoping they’ve got the new Stereophonics album – Performance and Cocktails in stock. Quite like that Kelly Jones chap. Lovely gravelly voice. Reminds me of a young Rod Stewart, before he started wearing trousers like a magician.
Right then. Time to head home.
And before I forget, I’m still looking at this letter on my desk.
Des. Linesman.
Unbelievable.
— Des
