Hello and welcome to the price of football, the show that looks at the money.

Behind the beautiful game with me, Kevin Day and Liverpool University's Kieran McGuire,

was almost gymnastic in the way he leapt into frame there.

You'd call me Olga, if you want.

I could call you Olga, Kieran.

It'd be lost to many people because rather than Romanian gymnast, they'll going to Moscow twins. Ah, yes. Yes, that was Tatiana, to be fair, and Strait-Lar. It was Tatiana. Well, it weren't twins, they were sisters. Oh, sorry, sister. Oh, sorry. I've bumped that. Yeah, yeah, I've got standards. I've bumped that stand. I've really bumped that story up to people. I should bear that in mind when I'm telling the exaggerated version of that story to people. It's Sunday evening here. I think

we should point that out. We normally record this on a Monday to go out on Tuesday, but because

of the old logistical reasons, it's Sunday night, which may explain the last time I saw

you, Kearing, you had a rather flimsy

t-shirt on, but clearly autumn has struck the South Coast because you're all wet.

You look like you're expecting a four to ten.

I thought you'd be delighted.

It's seven o'clock in the evening.

It's fair to say, you wouldn't fancy facing Michael Holding or Kurtly Ambrose in this. It's pretty gloomy outside,

and it's tipping down with rain. Well, it's quite, I did once face Malcolm Marshall.

Oh, really? Yes, it's the most terrifying experience I've ever, my first thing I did was to get in touch with Davey Gow and apologize for taking the Mickey out of him for all those years, for being a coward facing the West Indies in just a shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. I didn't even see the boy. I just, I heard it fizzing past my phone site. I don't know if anybody could do that for a living.

It's beyond me, it's a bit dark and gloomy,

although smudges resolutely refusing to come in

because she's convinced herself that the little spot she has under the bush is dry,

and it's not.

So we'll have to go through the usual stuff where he comes trotting in and blames me.

It's questions, Karen.

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