We need to keep going. Frenkie is sat in his brand new house with everything still unboxed, just waiting for that magic number. Dinking a little ping pong ball from one end of the study towards the F5 key on his laptop at the other side - perfectly hit every time - he loudly shouts out the numbers in his native Dutch.
"1682 pagens? Teringlijer Bastardos! ik waiten tot 2000 den singo contracto. Den ik zal naar toe rennen Pepsi Guardiolas en kicking face! Gloring gloring Manchestering Unites!"
Mikky marches past, struggling to maneuver through the fifty thousand ping pong balls that have begun to spill into the hall as she lugs a briefcase to the front door. She's had enough.
"Pleur op! verdomd Manchester United agen?! Nein sunny delighto en beachy beachy "
Frenkie doesn't give a shit. United have Casemiro now. Why spend his days with Mikky when he can play with a different chipmunk who can actually thread him some decent through passes, unlike the shite she served up for their engagement party a few weeks ago?! She wasn't even defensively aware when they were in Las Vegas and that goat he was sprint training with clattered into her ffs.