How-do, lads, here's a bit of a news flash - your old mate Craig's back! Yeah, that's right: FLIPPING HECK!! And if YOU'RE surprised, imagine how yours truly feels!! I was just settling down in the La-Z-Boy in front of the telly to watch another episode of Diagnosis Murder - which, incidentally, turned out to be absolutely flipping smashing, as per - and the phone rang in the hall. I was flipping furious, because the episode in question had started with one of those really clever 'eh, what's all this?' sort of thingies (Dick Van Dyke was on holiday in Florida, and, realising that he'd forgotten his sunglasses, he'd popped back in to his hotel, got into the lift - or 'elevator' as they say over there - and done a nice little tap dance while it went up to the tenth floor - so far, so good - and then the doors opened and Dick found himself face to face with...someone who looked exactly like Dick!!! Amazing stuff!!!). Anyway, I called out to the missus, 'Get that for me, luv, will you?' Nothing. Not a flamin' sausage. I tried again: 'GET THAT FOR ME WILL YOU, LUV?' Nothing at all. 'OI, LUV....??!!!!' Utter bloody flipping s#ilence. She'd only gone out again, probably to ASDA for more of that flamin' pro-biotic crap she's always flippin' eating, so I ha@<>
ngd to get up and answer the bloody phone meself (how come I don't have a mobile phone, I hear you ask? BECAUSE I'M FLIPPIN' WELSH - THAT'S WHY!!) Anyways, I go: 'Who the flaming HECK is this?' I really shouted, like. Then I heard the voice at the other end. It was only flipping flaming Kenny flipping Dalglish!!! My flipping HERO! So I dropped the bloody phone and flipping FAINTED! The receiver was just swinging there, as I laid on the carpet, motionless! Of course, when I came to, I thought it had all been a flaming dream, like, probably brought on by that half a lager and plate of paprika-dusted meat I had earlier (well, let's be honest, we've all done it, and, look, I haven't exactly been required to keep match fit recently, have I!). So I sat back down again and tried to make sense of what was happening on Diagnosis Murder - by this time, as far as I could make out, Dick Van Dyke was posing as someone else who looked just like Dick Van Dyke, except he was now some sort of mafia boss with a bit of a tan, on the run from a really big fat bloke with a birthday cake with a bomb inside it. It was absolutely gripping but I was really angry I'd missed so much and I was confused, and when I get confused me little legs start jumping and I become quite emotional. Anyway, suddenly the phone goes again! Now I'm really angry! So I goes out to the phone again, picks it up and shouts: 'What the HELL do you want NOW???' It was Kenny! It had been Kenny last time, and now here he was again. It was flipping REAL! 'We want you back,' he said. Of course, I flipping fainted again! And, yep, when I came to I thought it had been another dream (let's be honest - we've all done that, too). So, to cut a long story short, this sequence went on for quite a while, until the missus came back, found me unconscious on the floor being licked by the dog, dropped all her shopping (I was right - ASDA bags the lot of 'em) and woke me up. So there she was, cradling me little head in her arms, screaming: 'Craig, lover, Kenny wants you back at Liverpool! He's been calling you all afternoon!!!' How did I feel? I was flipping flaming THRILLED!!!
To top off a fan-flipping-tastic day, the missus then reached into one of her ASDA bags and produced...a brand new DVD box set of Diagnosis Murder! Mates, I don't mind admitting, I felt like crying. She's a lovely woman, the missus, in spite of everything.
It seems strange now, but I was almost on me way to QPR before re-signing for the Reds. Yes, I know! What happened? Well, Neil Warnock happened. What a peculiar man! We met up, like, and had a chat. It started off all right, but then he started arguing over everything! Astonishing behaviour! I think I mentioned how odd I find Wednesday being called 'Wednesday'. Innocent enough, I'm sure you'll agree. But Warnock, he just went off on one: 'What did you say, Craig? WEDNESDAY is my favourite name for any day! FOR ANY DAY!!! I LOVE Wednesday, me! Why on earth complain about Wednesday when you have TUESDAY?? That's a SHOCKER of a name for any a day - AND it's such a depressing day! Tuesday! It's like the Sunday of the weekday world! Tuesday! And yet YOU complain about Wednesday!!!' Off he went. It was a bit frightening, to see a grown man go flipping mental like that. 'How dare you!' I was shouting, 'how dare you, sir!' as I accelerated away. The last memory I'll have of that meeting is of me, getting in me car, and hearing him in the distance, throwing a calendar, screaming: 'WEDNESDAY??? WEDNESDAY???You don't DESERVE Wednesdays!!!' He threw a cone at us. He did. A CONE. Frankly, I think he's off his flipping rocker. A very sad little man.
It's just occurred to me that maybe I ought to backtrack a little bit and tell you what I've been up to since I was last here. I've been what I believe psychiatrists call 'peripatetic'. As far as football is concerned, I quite enjoyed meself at West Ham, although I have to say I was both surprised and very, very, disappointed in the quality of fresh meat to be had down in London. I mean, it's the capital city of England, for god's sake, and - outside of Allen's of Mayfair, which is good but flipping expensive - you can't find a decent piece of meat anywhere! If I hadn't left I'd have probably been reduced to eating SALAD by now! Similarly, Manchester City was another mistake, to be honest - partly because it was in Manchester, and partly because I FLAMING HATED IT!! I admit I got into a bit of bother with one or two of the lads there, mainly over matters relating to charcuterie, which, as I'm sure you know, is a topic very close to my heart, and I never got on with Mancini, who kept standing there with his stupid scarf on, saying that I needed to study the offside rule before I could sit on the bench (which made no flipping sense to me at all!). There was no camaraderie. None at all. Part of the problem is that most players these days seem to be on their fancy flipping phones doing that 'Twitter' nonsense. As I said, I'm Welsh, I don't do that sort of thing. I prefer to stand right in front of you, with me arms outstretched, and tell you exactly what I'm thinking. Loudly. For some crazy reason not many players these days seem able to handle that. The ones at City seemed flipping SCARED by it! Going home to Splott to play for Cardiff was, in contrast, a flaming treat, particularly as the move placed me right in the middle of what I will always believe is the meat capital of the flipping world! Lovely time, there, although, alas, I did get into one or two more arguments, again relating to charcuterie (what is WRONG with people these days??). At least I showed Mancini that I understood the offside rule very well indeed, as, every time a ref or his flipping 'assistant' claimed I was offside - which was far too flipping frequent - I was able to stretch me little arms out, cry out 'HEY! HEY, REF!!!' and explain to them how and why they'd got it absolutely WRONG!
Obviously, I've been obliged to watch a heck of a lot of daytime telly during the last year or so, because I haven't been wanted much on the training ground, and let me tell you this: daytime telly - with the honourable exception of Diagnosis Murder - is a flaming DISGRACE! Especially IT-flipping-V! Daybreak, with Adrian flaming Chiles? If I want to see someone THAT miserable at that time in the flaming morning I'll look in the flipping MIRROR! Phillip Schofield? That man deserves a slap! I've seen referees less pompous! And then there's that monstrosity Loose Women! What an absolute flaming shocker that is! And as for David Dickinson's Real Deal, well, I thought my letter-writing campaign of a couple of years ago had seen off THAT load of nonsense, but it's still flipping going! Outrageous! Mind you, it's not much better on the other side. Cash in the Attic, hosted by some awful old trout with a weird posh/common accent called Lorne Spicer, followed by a Terry flaming Thomas lookalike presenting Bargain Hunt! Absolutely WOEFUL stuff! Escape to the Country? Why the flaming HECK would I want to escape to the bloody country? I spent most of my flipping childhood trying to escape FROM the country! The country is flipping PANTS! Awful programme. And don't get me started on that idiotic tidybearded FOOL Noel Edmonds and his Deal or No Deal. I just sit there when that comes on and shout, 'OI! EDMONDS! IT'S NO DEAL!! UNDERSTAND? NO DEAL!! NOW GO AWAY!!!' It all makes me SO angry! The missus, of course, is all, 'Come on, lover, go shopping with me, get yourself out of the house,' but I'm like, 'NO! I'm not going to be forced out of my own flipping house, my own little flaming CASTLE, by a bunch of boneheaded idiots on TV! If they think they can do that they've got another flipping think coming! I'll show them - no matter how bad they get, I'll sit there and watch it, just to prove I'm master of my own flipping flaming destiny. That's me all over, that is. And anyway, who wants to follow my flipping missus around 120 flipping DRESS shops? Not flaming me! And I don't want to encourage her to start messing about 'redesigning' the flaming house, either. The latest thing she's bought is a bloody great big thick white carpet for the hall. A WHITE carpet!! FOR THE HALL!!! I ask you! I now can't wear SHOES inside me own house! Thanks for that, luv. Absolutely brilliant! But, let me assure you of this: I'm writing some bloody angry letters to ITV and the BBC. I'm not standing for much more of this crap!
On a happier note, something good did come from my spell in London: I established a flipping fantastic new professional relationship with Allens of Mayfair. Basically, they've agreed to take over distribution of the existing Craig Bellamy Quality Meat Utensil Range (I'm proud to say that the great George Foreman owns no fewer than FIVE entire sets of these!), and work with me to develop a brand new range of top class meat-related items, including grills, tenderisers, skewers, forks, lifters, mincers, burger makers, thermometers and a very special set of bespoke steak knives. It's so flipping exciting I cannot tell you! I'm really hands on with all of the designing and production - I have to wear one of them white hats, overalls, special gloves, all of that, and I work with the lads on the cuts and everything! They even bring out a special little stool for me to stand on so I can reach the table and use all the knives and wotnot. I've never felt so flipping fulfilled in the whole of my life, I'm telling you!
The other really great thing that's happened since I was last with you is The Craig Bellamy Meat Farm, supported by my Craig Bellamy Steak-Holder Foundation, that I am so proud to have established in Sierra Leone. It's my personal ambition to one day see every young child in that part of the world grow up knowing the beauty and value of a good piece of meat, so I'm pouring all of my money into this venture. It's my way of giving something back. It's my way of giving some meat back. We're based in a place called Tombo, not far from Freetown, which weirdly enough reminds me a little bit of Bridgend. A much hotter version of Bridgend. Under the slogan 'Craig's Pleased to Meat You!' we go into schools and homes in the area, explain the various cuts you can make from every kind of local animal, and then cook some fresh meat for the kids. It's flipping moving to see an under-privileged kid there eat his first proper steak. It makes the old eyes moist, I can tell you! And that's not the end of it. The Meat Farm is now doing so well we're getting celebrity visitors who are spreading the word. Remember that Lady Doo-Dah 'meat dress'? That was our meat! Yep! That's not all: we also only went and won, at the first time of asking, the African Perishable Foodstuffs Gold Medal! Flipping incredible! And we've had nice letters from that Angelina Jolie woman, Gerard Depardieu, Tom Hanks, Shane Ritchie and David Hasselhoff, all saying things like 'Well done, Craig, keep up the good work!' My hope now is that my great hero from the magical world of entertainment, Mr Dick Van Dyke, will become our 'roving ambassador'. I can just picture him, napkin around his neck, with that smashing set of ultra-white teeth that he has, these days, holding up a knife and fork above a great plate of our meat and saying something like, 'Mmmm, this is delicious!' I've written to him, any road, so fingers crossed! But the project just makes me so passionate, and I can't wait to get Kenny, Stevie and Carra involved, and I know all the South American lads are going to be enthusiastic. I've already told Lucas, 'Get the barbecue out, mate - you and your mates are about to taste some REAL meat!' He's excited. I'm excited, too! I'll leave it a while before I mention my views on charcuterie. I don't go looking for trouble these days. I've matured. A bit like a good piece of meat.
And that brings us up to date, lads. Your little mate Craig is back. Kenny's already got me helping out - he's just asked me to play a round of golf with a lad called Degen. 'Happy to oblige,' I said, all smiles. I have to confess I stage-managed me big return to Melwood this morning. Maybe it's all the telly I've been watching, but I like a bit of showbiz these days! I got in really early, all excited, hid out the back, put me CD player on, and started playing that song ''Pumped Up Kicks' - I absolutely flaming love that flipping song! - and then, as the music goes Dum-Dum-de-de-Dum-Dum..., all sort of sultry like, I made me grand appearance: 'Hello, lads,' I said, all nonchalant like, 'now where was I?' Smashing stuff! Granted, the only player who was actually there at the time was that little lad Suso, who didn't seem to know who I was, but nonetheless it was a top class way for me to make me return. I was telling everyone about it when they finally arrived a bit later on. Carra looked dead impressed, and said I should try it again using Tinie Tempah! I don't think he realises how much that would involve a change of the choreography, but it's still a seal of approval I'm sure. (Carra's always been a good mate - he took the time to drive me all the way down to West Ham when I left the last time.) Hopefully we can re-enact the routine for LFCTV. I fancy doing a chat show on there. In fact, as a massive telly fan, I fancy being on there so often they'll have to re-name it CraigTV!! Anyway, so what can I promise you this time around? Well, 220% effort, of course. Lots of passion, of course. A bit of fun - you've got some pug-ugly players these days, like that Jay Spearing, Dirk Kuyt and Jonjo Shelvey, so I'll be saying 'Morning, gorgeous!' to them every morning, just for a giggle. It's what I call a Craig Special: tried and tested HILARIOUS. There'll be plenty more where that came from! And I can't wait to get Lucas, Maxi, Luis and this new fella Coates to join me on a proper meat-cooking circuit. I also hope I can have a laugh with Andy Carroll, but I only come up to his shin pad so it'll require a bit of give and take. I suppose I'll just have to look up and shout a lot. I can do that. I suppose I've been doing it all me life. Most of all, I'm really champing at the bit to help out Kenny, Steve and all the coaching staff with my own input into the tactical side of it. I don't like to blow me own horn, as you know, but I can't help thinking that I'm the last tiny piece of a great big jigsaw. Once I'm slotted in you'll be flipping ecstatic, you mark my words!
