V HULL CITY, 1-5 (h)
Disappointing. Very disappointing. Gutted is the word I'd use, in fact. The first 20 minutes we gave them a footballing lesson in every department but once they'd got those quick three goals under their belts we lost our way in the game. But you know, let's put this in perspective. You see photos of those young kids done in by paedophiles in their football shirts and it saddens you really. You think – why does it always have to be the likes of Manchester United? The next time a case like this comes up, you just hope the kids in question are going to be wearing, I don't know, Brentford shirts, or Mansfield shirts. Or maybe even this club. Because that's what we need if we're to turn things around. We need that encouragement, that sign that a grass roots level, that our kids, especially the ill-fated ones, because at the end of the day they're the ones that get the high profile, are supporting their local team and not, you know, gloryhunting.

V LEICESTER CITY, 0-3 (a)
Hard done by? I'd say so. We battled honestly throughout, as men and I feel that we didn't reap the dividends we deserved for the heart and commitment we showed for those 90 odd minutes. But then, you know, life's like that. It's like, we're all men, we've all done it, it's a hot day, there's a young lady who's taken your eye and you sneak up behind her and give her, you know, a friendly grope, a goose, you might say. She gets insulted, starts screaming the odds, but, you know, there's an argument that, she's wearing practically nothing, she's asking for it, really. Of course, when the case comes to court, she argues that she was in her own bathroom at the time and you shinned up a ladder and climbed in through an open window to get to her. Even so, a £2000 fine and a court order not to set foot within 500 yards of that particular nunnery seems very, very harsh in my book. But then, we move forward, we fight on. There's always another day, another nunnery.

V STOKE CITY, 0-6 (h)
Are the owners of this club losing patience? Well, at the end of the day you'd have to ask them that question. So far as I'm concerned, I've an excellent relationship with them, I know where I stand. It's like buying dwarves off the internet. You break open the crate, the little feller's a bit dazed at first, but you show him the pen you've set up for him in the back garden, you fatten him up with a few tins of Alphabetti Spaghetti, teach him a few circus tricks and after six weeks, you've got a barbecue set up in the back garden for friends and you're firing him out of a miniature cannon onto a trampoline, you know, as entertainment. That's football. We're here to entertain but it's the owners' club to do as they please with the same as it's my dwarf to do as I please with – until he gets chewed to pieces by the family alsatian, that is. That's the real world.

V CRYSTAL PALACE, 1-4 (a)
It wasn't the result we were looking for. But by Heaven, we'll not be throwing in the towel. Sometimes, in this game, like the game of life, people have it in for you and they're screaming for your head. It's a bit like turning up drunk on a visit to Auschwitz. Basically, it's a pre-season tour of Eastern Europe, an opportunity to get some match fitness under our belts but also to unwind, take in the local sights. So off you go to Auschwitz, you've brought a few tins for the coach journey, perhaps not properly paced yourselves and by the time you reach the camp and are shown round, you're singing a few salty songs that may have caused offence, crawling round on your hands and knees and relieving yourselves in a few places the PC brigade would say you perhaps oughtn't have, to be fair. That's football. But I'll tell you this. Like Anne Frank, we're in a battle for our very lives, this club. Thing is, we intend to go one better than Anne Frank. We intend to survive.

V SHEFFIELD UNITED, 0-3 (h)
It's hard. We're not getting the breaks I feel we're due. Is it my management style? That's perhaps for others to comment on. Try and look at it like this. You're at home. Little 11 year old Kieran asks if he can have a choc ice, so you say, oh go on, there's a couple in the downstairs freezer, fetch me one while you're at it. A few minutes later, he stumbles back upstairs looking utterly traumatised, trembling like a leaf and clutching a frozen, severed penis he's found in the freezer. He's forgotten all about the choc ices but that's kids for you these days, daft as brushes what with their Playstations and all. So you leap up and fetch him a hefty clip round the ear because to be fair he's done wrong, he had no business rooting and he's shown you up. It's unfortunate that 11 year old Kieran isn't actually your son but the Chairman's, they've come round for dinner as a family. The evening ends quicker than anticipated and you've a tense meeting in store the next morning. But that's fine, that's football, these little difficulties crop up, you hammer them out round the table and move on. Still, sometimes it's best to let severed penises lie but that's just one manager's opinion.