The problem I have is we're really not getting anything back from the club.
My brain must be addled because I have no desire to jump under a bus. Wednesday will come and go. Pushing a trolley round Tesco at a weekend is not my idea of fun.
Supporting Villa is a bit like having a pet dog. Not a pedigree or anything fancy, but a likeable kind of breed, say a Collie, or maybe a Labrador. It doesn't do anything very fancy - it won't do tricks, doesn't carry your paper back from the newsagent or anything like that - but it is pretty loveable and you've become stupidly attached to it. Most mornings it bounces into your bedroom, tail wagging, and nudges your face with its wet nose to wake you up, and you think how glad you are to have it in your life, you love that old mutt.The only problem is that, every now and then, rather than nudge you lovingly, it vomits into your open, snoring mouth, just when you're not expecting it, and you start to have fantasies about sticking it in a sack with a couple of bricks and throwing the fucking thing in the cut.