Afternoon:
10°c
Ignorant Arshavin's ready for taxing time
In the most touching show of empathy towards an impoverished public since Sir Peter Viggers ordered his floating duck sanctuary, Andrey Arshavin moans pitiably about his tax bill. Even the current 40 per cent top rate has startled the Arsenal midfielder, who signed in blissful ignorance that he would be charged rather more on his £80,000 per week than the 18 per cent levied back home in St Petersburg. With that top rate rising to 50 per cent next April, and Andrey seemingly still a stranger to the terms "clever accountant" and "offshore trust", we wish him well in his quest for a compensatory pay rise. If the Arsenal board fail to do the decent thing, Richard Curtis will no doubt organise an appeal. In the meantime, we await confirmation from the Russian School of Etymology that Andrey's surname is contracted from the more formal, double-barreled Arse-Havinalaugh.
Arsene must wake up to his home truths
Still with shrunken Arses, Herr-Monsieur Wenger is the latest victim of News of the World sporting surveillance. This one is hardly Max Mosley standard but the paper published a transcript of Wenger's lively meeting with shareholders last week. “Today, Arsenal is hugely respected with a massive reputation all over the world,” said the Alsatian when asked if he regards winning trophies as important. “But the smallest respect we have is here in England!” Ah, but isn't that so often the way with great leaders? Mrs Thatcher said much the same before she fell in 1990, while today Gordon Brown is feted around the planet as a saviour of the global banking system. Not the most spiffing of omens. It's all very well being revered from Quito to Kuala Lumpur, Arsene old love, but if I were you I'd concentrate on the Holloway Road.
Shearer gives us a wonder bawl to enjoy
Nothing makes Noel Gallagher laugh like watching fat Geordies cry, he recently revealed, so on his behalf we thank Alan Shearer for providing such mirth on Sunday. It remains unclear whether Shearer, having proved himself an astoundingly incompetent manager, will return to the Match Of The Day sofa to lecture others about their failings; or stay at Newcastle to take them down into the Football League. On behalf of every MOTD viewer, and especially Noel Gallagher, please God it's the latter.
I had L' of a problem listening to the rugby
Such a fiasco for the radio listener was Saturday's Heineken Cup Final that a rule must be introduced to prevent a repetition.
Leinster v Leicester may have been a useful exercise for any Two Ronnies wannabes working on a version of the Fork Handles sketch. But for people like me, trapped in the car with slightly impaired hearing, it was like watching a game between teams wearing similar strips on Chris Mullin's black and white telly. I still haven't a clue who won, and probably never will.
