Bald truth for Arsenal’s Gervinho…dodgy hair-do faces axe

Hic! Henry Norris is the rather squiffy football correspondent of the Bugle newspaper and an ardent Arsenal supporter to boot. Each week he’ll join us here at arsenalinsider.com to bring you his forthright views on all things AFC…please be advised, he hits the bottle early!

Hair-raising matters

What is all this blasted fuss over Carl Jenkinson’s infernal haircut? I see those roustabouts at Arsenal.com have put together a piece on our full-back’s latest look and even drafted in the likes of Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain and Robin Van Persie to comment on his unedifying mop. See evidence here.

I can’t see that it is of such editorial importance (and April Fool’s Day is Sunday) but what do I know? I am by my own acceptance a crusty old fugger who is happy enough to have a fortnightly trim at Mr Snips in Charring Cross Road.

Of course, Mr Snips isn’t his real name – it’s Wolfington K. Halpzburg, hence he goes by the name of Mr Snips. Anyway, I digress. Players of a vintage era had to settle for a short back and sides and a ton of oil to give you that slick-back look and I feel the modern Gunner should adopt a similar style.

Except Gervinho.

Lord above what is going on with this follically-challenged Ivorian Arsenalista? I wouldn’t mind so much if he used his massive forehead to good purpose with a few headed goals for our heroes hut the truth is it does not.

A whisper reaches me that Gervinho has been taking similar stick to Jenko and will come clean in the summer after being persuaded by Mr Wenger to shave the lot off. Hallelujah!

Sell all your tickets…

It’s been a decent old time to be of the Royal Arsenal persuasion I have to concede but I’ll admit that half the fun of being one of the enlightened N5 brethren is the sheer unabashed joy of vehemently disliking one’s so-called rivals.

A certain disease-ridden cesspit of a team springs to mind and given the evidence of so many empty seats at last night’s cup tie, I am starting to think that even the stinking few who support Twottenham are giving up the ghost.

In attendance at the miserable encounter at the Premier League’s most dilapidated shite-stained cackhole of a ground were 30,718.

Don’t get me wrong. I had no intention of switching on the television set to behold this tie (truth be known instead I enjoyed a secret liaison with a rather buxom widow with a big bottom and a penchant for fellatio) but news reached me of the unsurprising lack of interest from match-goers.

I see that the result means that the Deluded now face the Pensioners at Wembley for the occasion of the FA Cup semi-final. Will the phlegm-encrusted imbeciles turn up for the event? Will they manage to sell their allocation of match tickets?

On the evidence of last night’s embarrassing showing the answer, me Lud, is a resounding NO!

Huzzah!

Come on Boro

Did you hear the story about Wojciech Szczesny paying for a kid’s birthday party after being recognised in restaurant? Well, it appears that the generous trend is catching.

I was in the Duke’s Elbow not two nights ago and in walked Boro Primorac. Now, not a lot is known about Mr Wenger’s trusted sidekick (apart from he prefers the abbreviation of his first name rather than the more formal Middlesbrough).

He has a very low profile and seemingly goes bout his business in a dutiful manner and it is not unfair to say he could be considered by onlookers as a tad dour. But wait. He is an good egg when it comes to sharing a few scoops. And insisted on footing the bill for the entire bar. I managed to get in his company for an hour or two and he is one of the greatest raconteurs you are ever likely to have the pleasure and privilege of meeting.

Tale after hilarious tale skipped from his lips. Arsenal anecdotes abounded. But I admit I ended up enormously fuzzbuzzled on G ‘n Ts with a nuclear warhead measure of Mother’s Ruin and, abject apologies, I can remember nothing.

Middlesbrough sleeps well tonight.

Pip pip. Old things…