The camera pans to a table in a cafe, located in the heart of Newcastle. Mike, wearing an oversize Newcastle United top, pushes a sausage around a plate. Derek, sitting opposite him in shirt and tie, sips from a cup of tea.

Mike: Awright Derek, me old mucker. How’s things now that you’re back from Glasgow?

Derek: I tell you what Mike, you sold me down the river there didn’t you me old China? ‘Go to Rangers’, you said. ‘It’ll be like a holiday camp’, you said. I never thought I’d say this, but it’s a relief to be back in Noocastle.

Mike: Well, it’s funny you should say that Del. I’ll be honest with you, things up here are in a mess and we need you back pronto. The team’s heading for relegation, the players are bloody hopeless and there’s protests before every home game. The fans are revolting.

Derek: Revolting? You don’t have to tell me that. I saw them when I was up here last time – Slazenger tops, Lonsdale tracksuit bottoms, Donnay polo shirts – I mean, where do you get that kind of clobber?

Mike: Hmm, let’s gloss over that should we. Anyway, what do you say? Should we get the old team back together – me, you, Dennis, that Tony Jiminez character that no one really knew what he was doing? It’ll be like the good old days. Well, the old days anyway.

Derek: I don’t know Mike, I’m past all that now. I’ve got a safer, less volatile job testing landmines. What you need is someone who knows how things work up here and has a bit of experience when it comes to managing a club like Noocastle.

The cafe door swings open to reveal a beaming Alan Pardew, who looks resplendent in his crisply ironed white shirt and spectacles.

Alan: Bloody hell Mike, fancy meeting you here.

Mike: Oh Christ.

Alan: How did you know that was what I was calling myself now? It’s maybe a little bit over the top but it’s nice of you to say it. Anyway, how’s things going up at the madhouse?

Mike: I’ll be honest with you Al, it’s a shambles. Protests, bed sheets, an awful run of results...

Alan: Sounds just like last season.

Mike: Don’t get cocky sunshine. I still haven’t forgotten how you snuck out of here in December.

Alan: I don’t think that’s fair. I told you right from the start I’d had an offer.

Mike: Yeah, but when you said you were heading to the Palace, I thought it was just that MBE for services to the teeth whitening industry that had come through. Next thing I know, you’re swanning around at Selhurst Park doing ridiculous things like winning football matches.

Derek: Clearly something you didn’t learn here.

Alan: I think that’s a little bit harsh lads. We had some good times together didn’t we? Finishing fifth, getting to Europe, pretending we were going to spend the Andy Carroll money. ‘Appy days.

Mike: Well how’s about living them again Al? Come on, give it up at the Palace and come back to the Sports Direct Superdrome.

Derek: That’s next week’s announcement Mike.

Mike: Oh, bloody hell, yes.

Alan rises from his seat and leaves. Mike slumps with his head in his hands, but his phone suddenly starts to ring.

Mike: Ah, it’s Graham Carr checking in. This could be just what we need Del. I sent him over to France to do a bit of scouting, maybe he’s come up with something.

Graham (on the phone): Bonjour. Je m’appelle Graham et j’aime jouer au football.

Mike: Knock it off Graham, it’s me you’re speaking to, Mike. You can shelve the lingo for a minute or two.

Graham: Champion, it’s bloody hard work all this speaking French.

Derek: Tell me about it, I used to have to sort out the players’ contracts.

Mike: Right, what have you got for me Graham.

Graham: You’re going to love this Mike, I’ve found something right up your street. Le Coq Sportif. Sportswear brand, used to be massive in the 80s and 90s, turn out some real rubbish now but you’ll get them for next to nowt. Do you want me to make an offer.

Mike: Bloody hell Graham, I thought you were meant to be looking for a new manager or some half-decent players. Mind you, now you mention it, that does sound pukka. Do they make sport socks?

Graham: As far as I know they do, Mike.

Mike: Do they have an investigative Channel Four documentary digging around and causing problems?

Graham: Don’t think so.

Mike: Right, I’m in. But that still doesn’t solve our problems up here. I’ll be honest Graham, I’m out of ideas. We need someone with experience, who knows Noocastle inside out and who won’t be afraid of stepping in now to sort things out.....

Suddenly, the door swings open again. In walks Joe Kinnear, sweating profusely but eyeing the Bellybuster Breakfast menu with undisguised delight.

Joe (shouting to the counter): I’ll have one of those f***ing Bellybusters and don’t be f***ing shy with the bacon. And if the beans are cold, I’ll f***ing have you, you bunch of ****s.

Mike: Of course, why didn’t I think of that? Watcha, Joe, have I got an offer for you? What are you up to nowadays?

Joe: I’m pretty busy to be honest Mike. I’m managing Manchester City at the moment.

Derek: You’re not really Joe, are you?

Joe: Aren’t I? Oh, bloody hell. Maybe it’s Man United then?

Mike: You’re not really doing that either, are you Joe?

Joe: Aren’t I? Well I could have, you know. You ask Mick Harford, anyone. They’ll all tell you I could have done it.

Mike: Okay Joe, calm down. Well listen, how would you like coming back in at Noocastle. We’ve got a team that can’t play and we’re heading for the Championship. It’s a perfect chance to finish what you started last time...

Joe: What do you mean Mike? I left a team that was going places.

Derek: Yeah. Rotherham.

Mike: Look, let’s not argue lads. Joe, do you fancy it?

Joe: Well, funnily enough, I’ve seen some of the recent games and I think there’s a bit of talent there. I like that Remy Nutella who plays in midfield, and I reckon that Siem Sing Song could be useful if only he was fit.

Mike: So it that a yes then?

Joe: I tell you what, sod it. Let’s do it. One last time, eh. Right, what time’s that first press conference...