Sludge's nervous ahead of tonight's Bayern game

What a contrast to less than a month ago when he was supremely confident "the boys" would wrest away Man City's Premier League crown with at least three games to spare and dive their way to another Champions League trophy. Today he was full of doubts and has resorted to superstitious means to aid the team as he's bricking it. He's wearing his lucky vest, thong, curly slippers and was chain smoking spliffs.

On the shagging front he was much more upbeat. His latest partner is another in a long line of council estate mots. "She's ideal," he oozed while grinning, adding: "she has a low IQ and even lower morals" as he rubbed his hands together. Her five sprogs have been taken into care and she's really struggling, he said. "It's only natural she misses them," I remarked. "What are you on about? he asked, "she doesn't miss them at all but because the Child Benefit and Tax Credit payments have stopped she's had to cut right back on the cigs, cider, takeaways and is worried she may not be able to afford this year's latest iPhone".

Sludge's women invariably have more kids than teeth. As he's fond of saying with his trademark vulgarity: "all my birds have been cocked more times than John Wayne's rifle".

One with that profile was directly responsible for him gaining his first not guilty verdict last year when he faced a shoplifting charge. He met her on a Monday whereupon he spirited her to his Cowbridge grotto "to do the bizz" and afterwards while his back was turned as he cleaned his old boy with a curtain, as one might chalk a billiard cue, she half-inched a tenner that was on the dressing table. He forgave her and became engaged four days later. The following Tuesday they shopped at Asda. Unbeknown to Sludge she was on the rob. As they exited she espied a security bloke following them. She took to her toes. He mistakenly presumed she'd nicked his wallet so took off after her.

As she legged it clinging to a lamb joint, kilo of cheese and packet of Walls Strawberry Cornettos, he was in hot pursuit with a fist raised shouting: "come back you kent!" as the store detective chased them both down. That scene must have been like the end credits of The Benny Hill Show.

He emerged triumphant on the steps leading to Bridgend Magistrates' Court wreathed in smiles to declare himself an innocent man to two startled and bewildered onlookers, both elderly ladies. "What a daft fecker," one observed. The other nodded in agreement before shuffling off.

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Gosh wouldn't it be sad if they were the only English team of the four, not to reach the next round , I fear if the result is not good , windows may go in , if they can find one not boarded up in Liverpool .

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