And the rituals of a Saturday afternoon.

I have just finished reading “Blue blood” Mike Doyle’s autobiography. I was really looking forward to it because he was a member of the City team that ruled English football in the sixties and seventies. I only saw him play a handful of times, and to be honest I don’t really remember anything about those early games. But he was a link between my dad’s City and mine. Before I started reading the book I already liked Doyle, he hated Man U and was very vocal about how much better City were. I only wish we had players at the club now who were as loyal.

In the book he settles a few scores, and has some less than flattering things to say about the likes of Rodney Marsh and George Best, as well as some less well known individuals. The last couple of chapters are a little too bitter and self indulgent for my liking.

A far better read, in my opinion, is a book called "Kicked into touch" by Fred Eyre. A City player who didn’t scale the dizzy heights, and consequently had a lot more to be bitter about. His book is full of wit and wisdom, and leaves you feeling a lot happier.