The times, they are a-changing

At least that's what people say, don't they? But I don't think that's so true. I mean, I suppose you could say that things have changed over the years since I joined the club as a fresh-faced youth - relegation, promotion, further promotion, title win, European football and all that. Players have come, players have gone. Most have both come and gone during my time. But when you've been around the club for as long as I have, you realise that it's all much the same. Nothing new under the sun. Things really are mostly as they always have been.

Take the other week at training for example. After an extended session washing my hands at the far sink in the gents, who should I bump into coming the other way but one of our new young'uns, James Maddison. Now I've seen plenty of young lads arrive at our club eager to make a good impression over the last decade so I know how this parley works by now.

"Alright Madders!?" I said. He didn't respond, just gave me this jokey 'blank' sort of expression. "How's tricks?" I asked him.

"Fine, I guess," he replied. "I've been working on free kicks a bit."

"That's cool," said I. I think he had a bit of an itch on the back of his neck because he kept scratching it and looking away as he spoke. But I digress.

"Do I know you?" he asked. I like Madders. Great sense of humour. Really knows how to craft a good joke with the lads.

"Do you know me?" I laugh. "It's me, of course! Kingy! 'Kingeh'." He scratches the back of his neck again. He does that a lot.

"King... Power?" he says. "King Richard?"

I laugh. I think he did too. I can't remember exactly.

"No!" replies I. "Andy King!"

He keeps peering at me with this blank look. I tell you, he knows how to keep these jokes going. Might even rival Vards as the new joker of the pack.

"You took my number," I remind him.

"Ah!" he announces with a flourish. "Yes. Of course. Sorry about that."

"Not to worry, my friend!" says I. "I'm sure you'll have the same joy that I had from it over the years."

"Yes, I am thanks," he says. Turns out he's mastered the 'awkward silence' as well. I tell you, from the interviews you don't realise the great comic timing that he has. "Anyway," he follows up, "Must be moving on. See you later, er... mate."

"Later Madders!" I say back as he disappears into a cubicle and locks the door. Good lad, Madders. He'll go far, I reckon. Great with the banter.

So then, on my way back out, who should I bump into coming the other way with one of his assistants but the gaffer, Mr. Puel! Or le gaffeur as we call him. Well, I think I might be the only one calling him that so far but I have confidence it'll catch on.

"Hi boss," I say to him. He gives me a nod as we pass. He likes his friendly nods, does le gaffeur. He's given me friendly nods ever since he's arrived. I like to think we have a thing. As he passes me and continues down the corridor, I hear him say to his assistant: "Est-il toujours là?". Which reminds me, I must get around to learning some French. I like the friendly nods, don't get me wrong, but sometimes it would be nice to communicate with more than that.

So yes, life goes on, very much the same as it always did. Sure, I'm not getting as much game time as I'd truly like at the minute, or even bench time come to that, but if there's one thing I've learned over the years it's that patience is a virtue. The times a-changing? What is that really, more than merely an adage? The carousel will revolve once again, that much is for sure. And when it does, I'll be right there waiting. Ready to get back into the swing of things on the King Power pitch with all of my friends.

I tell you, despite what you might have heard to the contrary, you've not seen the last of this King just yet!