*We join the lads noisily scrambling around the dressing room, Lambert enters looking disheveled and shifty in a number of dirty jackets wearing a wide brimmed flat hat.*
Albrighton: Boss… What are you doing with all those Southampton kits?
Lambert: Um…. I don’t know Marc, but I’m definitely not stealing, signing them and selling them on eBay to raise cash for the transfer kitty.
Albrighton: Oh. What’re you doing then, some kind of laundry?
Lambert: Exactly my boy, I suppose a laundry would be a very nice thing indeed but … um … Our line of business pays a little better, don’t it boys?
Bent: Not ‘alf!
Ireland: Oh yeah!
Guzan: And many, MANY fewer clean sheets!
Lambert:#You see Marc … In this game, one thing counts, in the bank, large amounts. Transfer fees don’t grow on trees you’ve got to….#
Albrighton: … Sorry to interrupt your song and dance boss but are you recruiting a weedy team of children to rob and steal to fund transfer windows.
Lambert: Of course not my boy….. Unless you’re up for it?
Albrighton: Well I’ve broke my foot boss, I can hardly sneak around…
Lambert: Broke your foot!? Who did it my dear? Where there’s a blame there’s a claim!
*Lambert rubs his hands greedily*
Bent: Um… Boss I know I’m injured but I’ve been playing alright so do you think, well is there any chance that when I’m fit I could maybe play some more.
Lambert: MOOOOOOOOORE!?
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