Cod Almighty | Diary

Apart from the Antipodean hair he's still the same

28 July 2025

What a difference a week makes. Last week your Deviant Diary woke up, got out of bed and decided he couldn't be bothered to drag himself over the Pennines for another of A.I.rtell's academic exercises in process practice. Yep, Rochdale CBA. We had a ticket for the ride, but it struck us like an arrow through the head that in this Brave New World this Town were neither worth seeing, nor worth going to see.

This week? The sun is metaphorically shining and all is well. The Legacy Lumpers of Olde Lindum were flicked aside like an olde Subbuteo team (Crystal Palace 1970, the one with maroon and blue pin stripes) and the nouveau riche Posh Boys and their creche were crushed(ish). New kit, new kids; it is a fab new world indeed as Big Dave's Dynamic Diamonds are now both worth seeing and worth going to see.

Peterborough sent along waifs and strays and kids and things, considering Colchester to be the better test for their proper players, but they are still League One waifs and strays and kids and things. What a splendidly soporific stroll that was as Town catwalked their new season fashion line. Those Poshos had a couple of shots and they went in. Town had loads of shots and some failed to miss. All in all just another brick in Dave's wall with good bits, not so good bits and loads of perfectly adequate bits in between as Town's bits start to fit together. Ah yes, together we may be beautiful. If you weren't there you couldn't you see - it's the chemistry.

Not all is rosy in the garden, or more specifically Danny Rose is still sat in his deck chair with a knotted handkerchief on his head and trouser legs rolled up, but jazzy Jaze has been fabulously fluid in his absence. Word up: Amaluzor just might be what he appears to be after that amazing cameo.

So this is the end of our summer, but it is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end, but it is definitely the end of the beginning of something. We may possibly also be at the beginning of the worry about Christy Pym's lumber region. "Just a twinge" says our Chief Processing Officer, but as one of the 619 million humans currently on this here planet with a dodgy back, dear reader, a twinge becomes a twang with the merest of misaligned movements. Ladies and gentlemen I refer you to Exhibit Number One: Mr Clive Mendonca. I rest my case, as indeed Clive had to rest his back when the clocks went back.

Should the Mighty Pym's back actually twang after the clocks go back Town can't rely on emergency loan keepers now that Young Seb is a man, with a man's courage, or at least an adult man's contract to play association football. Then we may be subjected to the Terror of the Auton as a back pass rolls his way with some hairy beast barrelling towards him. Maybe, maybe not, it's all speculative panic based on the flimsy whimsy. The moral of this non-story? Don't whinge at a twinge.

No need to panic or purr yet, let's just wait and see what happens when the phoney war is over before we get into the seasonal mood swings.