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Paul Merson
“Glenn could see I was bricking it and turned round to me as I sat there, gripping the armrests.
"You all right?" he said.
"I hate flying, Boss. I'm shitting myself."
"Don't worry, Merse. It's going to be OK. We *won't* crash."
I thought, "Thank God for that. Glenn's said we're going to be safe. Nothing's going to fuck with us now.”
― How Not to Be a Professional Footballer
"You all right?" he said.
"I hate flying, Boss. I'm shitting myself."
"Don't worry, Merse. It's going to be OK. We *won't* crash."
I thought, "Thank God for that. Glenn's said we're going to be safe. Nothing's going to fuck with us now.”
― How Not to Be a Professional Footballer
“I crawled back to bed, knowing I was done for. Hours later, the phone in our room started ringing. It was George. He was not happy.
"Room 312. Now!" he shouted.
Bouldy got up. I tried to pull myself together, splashing my face with water and hauling on my shorts and flip flops. It was a lovely day outside, the sun was scorching hot and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, but it might as well have been a pissing wet morning in St Albans for all I cared. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach as we made the Walk of Death to Room 312, which I knew was Paul and Gus's room.
When we walked in, I thought I'd arrived in downtown Baghdad. Water dripped from the ceiling. The board games were in pieces and all the plastic parts were scattered over the floor. The balcony window was wide open and I could see a bed upended by the pool outside.”
― How Not to Be a Professional Footballer
"Room 312. Now!" he shouted.
Bouldy got up. I tried to pull myself together, splashing my face with water and hauling on my shorts and flip flops. It was a lovely day outside, the sun was scorching hot and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, but it might as well have been a pissing wet morning in St Albans for all I cared. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach as we made the Walk of Death to Room 312, which I knew was Paul and Gus's room.
When we walked in, I thought I'd arrived in downtown Baghdad. Water dripped from the ceiling. The board games were in pieces and all the plastic parts were scattered over the floor. The balcony window was wide open and I could see a bed upended by the pool outside.”
― How Not to Be a Professional Footballer
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