Porsche Man: The English Premiere West Ham

Earlier nothing changed at the top as Porsche Man relaxed in the courtyard with a towel around her neck wearing a suitable athletic ensemble.

“I have conquered the trip through the tricky trees, and I am still in the top ten,” she thought enjoying a cold drink. Picking up the cell phone, going to the google page the talented photogenic cover image tried to figure out her afternoon schedule.

“I need a nice delight,” she murmured typing away, “wow Burnley Cellars is having a wine sale. Claret half off.”

With that news the American theatrical tease, received a jolt without any help from the Carabao creature. Heading back inside, throwing the workout towel into the washroom, she grabbed a sweat matching top and entered the West London midday sunshine.

After a nice jog and upon arriving at the establishment, two attendants working the cash register noted, “something smells,” one said hanging the final decoration on the customer friendly Christmas tree.

“Yes, its Porsche Man,” the other continued.

“Only thing that stinks around here,” Porsche Man retaliated hearing the commentary. “is you, you are in the cellar, relegation bottom.”

Grabbing the keys, the hard-working employee turned to her colleague, “remember when Porsche Man was fighting getting knocked down a peg?”

“Yeah, she was fun to be around,” her colleague answered, “did you say dungeon demotion?”

Porsche Man followed the pair down the stairs listening intently to their conversation,

“Early in the second half my friend,” the worker paused, “Jay told me he had a goal,”

“What did it get you?’

“This fantasy notion I could actually get three points, sitting at home.”

Not even playing their game, Porsche Man remained silent, comforted, ‘the late night, Jay meant something much different back home’.

“So, Porsche Man, check out these lock stock and barrels, Claret wine everywhere,”

“Which year is good,” Porsche Man inquired.

“All of them can get you hammered, so to speak.”

Taking a seat on the bench the west ham who was united in her own successes decided to judge for herself, “I will sip these three,” she handed the sales individuals a piece of paper.

Finding three unbreakable glassware they handed the samples over,

“Oh geez, this tastes like musty cardboard,” Porsche Man discarded the plastic glass, “and this one has no fruity aroma.”

“Try this one?” They tempted.

“Perfect,” Porsche Man exclaimed.

“Would you like to try a full complementary glass?”

“Sure,” she agreed.

As the hour got late, Porsche Man relieved her bottom from splinters, “will that be cash or charge for the bottle?”

“Charge,” Porsche Man answered.

“Before I run this card, do you have any goals today?”

Feeling a bit tipsy she shook her head negatively, “Oh, here our neighbor, O’Shea over at O’Shea’s Irish pub gives us goal coupons to cover if there is a problem with getting the freebie over the line.”

“Why?”

“Well, they buy our product and if you like it here then you will go over there, then,”

“I will buy theirs,” Porsche Man finished the thought.

Midnight had not stroked yet and Porsche Man, made it back to her flat, safely walking,”

Sitting at the kitchen table she uncorked the bottle and poured the contents into a coffee mug, “yes, I am still top ten material with the new castle united representatives disposing Chelsea, but” she slurred, “Tommy can you hear me I need another goal for two more points.”

Waking up the next morning, a little hung over she noticed a text message, “you need to defend your top of the table spot?”

“I have a top spot somewhere,” she forgot, “that is right I am on top over there.”

Next text read, “I do not know, where this place is, what I do know is, dress warm, enjoy being number one.”