Little wonder my jokes fall flat: I can’t do impersonations. Mrs G. wonders why my Arsene Wenger always sounds like a lisping Pakistani, and Alex Salmond has seemingly morphed into Ole Gunnar Solskjær. …In an effort to trump yesterday’s melt-in-your-mouth braised beef cheek, the Boss is serving up veal steaks, yoghurt smothered home-grown beetroot, guacamole, and tomato and onion salad. The sun is shining and footy commentary is on the wireless: what more could you ask. Turteen t’tu. That’s what the bookies are offering on Mario Balotelli scoring the first goal. See what I mean.