Dominoes in the snug

Once upon a time, I spent a few hours toiling in the Stanstead lockdown with the security officers for some ill-timed remarks and newfound VISA requirements. Took much of the time talking of one Wayne Rooney's destination from Everton. Having just seen him for the first time in Portugal affronting the French on a television in Calgary and destined to consume a year in England, his choice of options mattered to me greatly then. And now, for all the annoyance over most things United, his appearances there yet make those games imminently watchable.

So with delight, perusing the infinity of words on the web on a delectable Friday, do I come across an old Martin Samuel column from '04 written in the midst of that debate. Turns of phrase have lasting value, beyond their present import, that make his entry a worthy read. Would list the highlights, yet in the opening paragraph appears the one word sentence "Bez." In the venerable Times, no less. Just go and read it. Here's the second (and best) paragraph for good measure:

To listen to some people, you would think they had never heard of nightclubs north of Watford. That Manchester did not give the world pills, thrills and some of the biggest lunatics ever to be let loose on an island. That George Best was teetotal until he went to Fulham. That provincial England closed at nightfall, save for two bingo halls and some old boys playing dominoes in the snug. That London, by contrast, was pitched midway between Bangkok, New Orleans and Amsterdam, with the fairground scene from Pinocchio thrown in for good measure. Poor old Wayne. What chance would he stand with that lot? They would eat him alive in t’smoke. Stick with your own kind, lad. It’s not for the likes of you is London.