It is Day Seventeen in the Rehabilitation House and Luke is is starting to suffer from Cabin Fever, plagued by dreams of rich businessmen waving suitcases full of cash at Freddie Shepherd, Roy Keane dancing naked with a referee and Glenn Roeder running away from an axe wielding Albert Luque.
With eviction night approaching Luke is haunted by visions of rampaging All Blacks ruthlessly dismissing England's chances of defending Rugby's World Cup and of irritatingly smug Australians confidently boasting about the Ashes heading back Down Under.
I'm sorry guys and girls, but after so long sat on the sofa doing very little I'm starting to feel like a Big Brother participant, just without the television cameras, arguments, constant flirting and the promise of a bucket load of cash in prize money if I can hang on in there until the end.
For those of you who are even vaguely interested, I'm back at work on The Journal on Tuesday and will immediately head to the Academy of Light for lunch and a few pints with Roy Keane. From there I will travel to the coast to meet Glenn Roeder for a Norwegian cruise.
Actually, none of the above is true, but I'm kinda looking forward to getting back to work after three weeks of post-surgery recovery time. Give me a couple of weeks of the daily grind, football politics and dreary press conferences, though, and I'll probably need another major operation to recharge the batteries.
I was interested to read Keane's comments today about how modern players make referee's jobs impossible. Interesting perspective from the man who was repeatedly warned about his attempts to intimidate them as a player.
I particularly remember that picture of him, veins popping out of his forehead, spit flying from his mouth, as he chased a poor man in black - alright man in black - around the pitch trying to get a decision against Manchester United reversed!
Still, I take Roy's comments on board. At least he was up front about it. He screamed and he shouted at them, he moaned and he whinged at them, but he never faked an injury or dived. In other words he bullied, but he didn't try and con refs. Far more honourable!
Who'd be a ref eh? Well, I'll tell you.
You know the kids at school who couldn't get in the football team, (or cricket, basketball, tennis, hockey....) but who were in the top set in maths, they're the ones.
And then there are the ones who wore glasses stuck together with a plaster on the corner of one frame and who had to do PE in their underpants, they're referees as well.
And then there are those ones who were on the student council, were always given responsibility when the teacher left the room and who spent lunchtime in the debating society or at chess club. The really intelligent kids who would have gone into politics, but who were strangely drawn to football much to the disappointment of their parents.
Basically referees are oddballs with an inferiority complex. They wanted to play football, but they relcutantly realised the only way they'd get close to playing was with a whistle in their mouth.
Mind you, I'm a fine one to talk. I wanted to play football, but having failed to make the grade I now watch it with a free sandwich and a cup of coffee in my hand and tell you lot what I think about it!
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