Whovians, Trekkies and lazy journalism. It seems our sci-fi fans are avid readers who hunt in packs. They have certainly got the hump with me, writes our grumpy old man Bill McCarthy.

Is spouting sometimes unpalatable opinions lazy journalism?

I don’t think so. Lazy journalist? Maybe.

If you want examples of lazy journalism, the return of the football season will have it by the  bucketload.

We’ve barely recovered from the interminable World Cup babblings of Lineker, Shearer, Hansen and co on the Beeb and the hapless Adrian Chiles and his z-list sidekicks on ITV.

While ITV’s coverage was so dull and bland it made Big Brother seem animated, the Beeb’s effort was more cringe-making than a Doctor Who repeat.

Lazy journalism ? We had monosyllabic Alan Shearer admitting  he knew little about Algeria when they were about to play England, despite being a so-called expert. He was then sent to the South African townships for a present a tricky item on  life, death and Apartheid. Had he done his homework?

‘How did it feel to be segregated,’ he asked a bemused looking Mbugs, a veteran resident of the Guguleto township?

‘Not great man’ came the incredulous reply.

Not exactly the Woodward and Bernstein school of investigative journalism is it? It made Jeremy Clarkson look like a forensic interviewer.

While all of this was going on, it took people who have English as a second  language, like Clarence Seedorf and Jurgen Klinnsman  to deliver considered, thoughtful analysis of what was happening on the football pitch.

Now these second-raters are back with their pearls of wisdom for the new football season.

Despite this happening in August, it still heralds the beginning of the end of summer, which has pros and cons.

On the plus side, town centres will revert from open zoos to more tranquil areas as hordes of kids return to school. It will be a pleasure not to have to step smartly away from spotty youths aiming phlegm at your shoe.

We will see less of lunatic cyclists, racing around pavements and streets, clad in ridiculously unflattering lycra, madly berating all who get in their way.

Another plus will be the end of car boot sales and my aimless meandering around fields where cow pats have more value than the goods on sale.

I will, perversely, miss being fleeced of my 50p for parking by my old mate Yoda. I wonder what he does in the winter months. Perhaps he perches on church ramparts with the gargoyles.

The downside will be even more grown men walking round in replica football kits. Many of these shaven-headed, tattooed gorillas have escaped from their summer stint at  car boot sales and are now turning their attention to the national game.

You can picture them limbering up for the first match of the season with half-a-dozen pints of Old Wifebeater,  further  ensuring their replica shirts will never fit properly.

Another downer of the approach of autumn will be men still wearing sandals, but now with the addition of moth-eaten old socks.

One last one on the upside. We will see the final episodes of The Bill and the cloyingly sentimental Last of the Summer Wine.

Things may be looking up after all.

A question  for next time. Why do gullible men buy into the nonsense of ‘man flu’ and not being able to multi-task like women?

Watch this space.