Premiership Plantpots

Not too long ago John and myself had to deliver a house-load of tall hexagonal stainless planters to a certain footballer who currently plies his trade in the Premiership. Or, to be more exact, the reserves of a certain Premiership club.

We aren’t ones to drop names into converstions like your average drunk would drop an alka seltzer into a pint glass the morning after the night before. And besides, the vast majority of you won’t have heard of him.

In one of my prevoius incarnations as a furnishings emporium proprietor just over ten years ago, I remember both Stuart Ripley and Graeme Le Saux popping into my establishment one afternoon after training as we were located just round the corner from the Blackburn training ground.

It was round the time of Uncle Jack’s millions and either just before or after they’d won the Premiership.

Some of Jack’s millions well spent – finally.

Anyway, after Stuart Ripley had managed to cause an effect similar to a partial solar eclipse after turning to the right whilst browsing the shop window and I’d stopped mentally singing: ‘If Ripley plays for England, so can I’, we managed to build up a bit of a rapport with Mr. Le Saux and counted him as a bit of a regular. We also had to pop round his gaff once in a while to do certain bits of work.

At the time, Blackburn players were probably some of the best paid in the land and, whilst Mr. Le Saux had a lovely pad in Waddington, it didn’t have the equivalent of a plasma screen in every room, a pool table at the top of the stairs and a grand piano in the foyer.

It’s quite apparent that even second string footballers at second rate clubs are paid infinitely more than those of a not too distant yesteryear. But then again, you knew that anyway.

Oh, and when was the last time you saw a full safety net in place for a trampoline at working class kid’s house?

Well now I’ve managed to completely alienate the footballers’ wives portion of the market, it might be quite nice to see what shape swimming pool Rio Ferdinand has.

{Next week: How Freddie Flintoff shotgunned a planter-load of Lancaster Bomber]

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