Diary of...Arsene Wenger

Hi everyone!

Another mock diary entry, this time for our very own hapless gaffer. Usual rules apply, it's all said in jest, and fictional except for actual events such as us getting a goalonoscopy from Liverpool...

2015-16 close season - We made second! Our best finish in years! All of our biggest players are still here and staying. And on the last day, we pipped Tottenham, who well and truly $h@t the defensive bed. Beautiful! The fans couldn't be happier!

Except they could. We came second to Leicester. Ranieri did what I've been trying to do for years and stormed the league with a bargain basement cluster of small timers nobody had ever heard of. Now the fans are livid that we could finish above City and United but not above a team whose nickname suggests they should be being hunted down by sadistic chinless wonders on horseback. Sanchez and Özil haven't signed new contracts and are playing their cards closer to their chests than the bad guy from Casino Royale. Never mind eh? There's always the Euros. Vive la France!

End of the Euros - Well, cr@p. That had so much promise and ended up going downhill like a fat kid on a sledge. A sackful of goals, six from the Grease Man alone, and we still ended up picking up loser's gold in the final. Even Giroud did too well to get any flack, Koscielny was excellent, and Debuchy...well, I like Debuchy. Still, beaten by the midget half of the Iberian peninsula, a team who simply refused to be beaten or actually win. Never mind. I'm so proud of the French lads I'm giving them an extended holiday. What could go wrong?

Note to self: never let Özil take another penalty. It's the one thing he can't do. Well, that, and not look like a very slim owl. Xhaka can't either, bless him. Granit - such an ironic name. Such a misnomer. He's going to fit right in.

Pre-season - I have a sit down with Ivan to discuss finances. I ask about the possibility of spending reasonably big on a player we really need. He breaks into a hysterical belly laugh and keeps going uninterrupted for five solid minutes. Seriously. I even have time to visit the gents and drain the baguette, and when I come back he's wiping tears of laughter from his face. He then looks at me and says, "Oh. You were serious." The next hour is a typical chain of lying, financial rhetoric - you'd think he was trying to sell me a second-hand car, for God's sake! I tune out and spend so long gazing at his bald, misshapen head that by the time I leave, I'm hankering after a bag of peanut M&Ms.

Red alert. Bright red. Like, look-directly-at-it-and-you'll-go-blind bright red. Jack might be fit for once, but the German beanstalk is out for the long term (probably a hairline fracture in one of those twelve-foot shin bones), and now Gabriel is out for eight weeks. Which in our money means four months, with no guarantee of recovery and a possible eventual trip to Dignitas - just look at Diaby, for God's sake. Wonderful. Now we have to rely on two centre halves who were practically embryos when we bought them. I'm starting to wonder if I should have bought that German kid (what's his name - Mufasa?) sooner than this.

Enjoy your holiday, Laurent.

13 August 2016 - Here we go! And things are looking good already - Leicester lost (some champions!), and Spurs conceded a Sunday League goal then lost their keeper to injury. Service resumed as normal - this season should be a doddle! Business as usual.

Except for Lineker. Fair play for paying up on a bet, but he can't have felt too good about presenting MOTD in his Calvins! Glad it wasn't me who had to hang out with his wang out on television.

14 August 2016 - Our turn to $h:t the defensive bed. After a very promising start, we are systematically dismantled by Liverpool. One nil lead, then a mad panic where we concede four unanswered goals. At one point Coutinho gets possession and the broadcasting company starts playing the Benny Hill music as our defence falls all over the place trying to stop him. It's as if we tried to park the bus, but Liverpool did what they're best known for and left it up on bricks with the wheels gone. It ends 4-3, and for a moment I'm thinking of spinning some more of that 'mental strength' twaddle, but Steve Bould glares me down so hard I can feel my bowel strength disintegrating and decide against it.

Now the world and his wife knows we can't defend worth squat, not with our centre halves in their strollers. That defender we want is going to cost a few million quid more now, easily. Could always cheap out and bring someone back again like I did Sol. Maybe Cygan? Bouldy? Both? Two tall, bald hardcases - it'll be like having the Mitchell brothers at the back! And it's free! I'm a genius.

No. No I'm not. Enjoy your best-loser holiday, Olivier and Laurent. Well earned. God knows I could use one already.

Next stop - Leicester. This should be easy, they've already lost this season...oh, wait...