| The Warky Championship Report: Stoke City (H) 15:18 - Aug 13 with 1349 views | Warkystache |
"Ah'm right up fer this" growled Tel, appreciatively, as his wife kindly dropped us at Manningtree Rail at 10am. An indecent time of a Saturday morning to be thinking of a pint, admittedly, with the game five hours away and the London-bound fun-seekers, their sunglasses hinting at Italian design and their glad rags showing clefts of ample peachy arse (and that was just the women. The blokes looked manicured by Beckham, all trimmed beards and Grealish hair and indecipherable inks on bare arms under YSL polos - we didn't admire their arses, just in case you wondered).
We were the only Guinness partakers. Everyone else chose takeaway cups of latte. The coffee machine sputtered and hissed and raised foam and steam. In contrast, the Guinness pump was reassuringly quiet and smooth. The barman waited on our pints, moving off to take change from a punter and to sip from the bottle of water he'd neglected. This was thirsty work.
The little sectioned-off area next to the cafe is usually a magnet for blue-shirted home supporters, but this was too early yet. This was greasy back bacon in a bap early. I lit a fag, the first of many that day, and Tel winced and said "Fought you'd give it up?" in tones of pained bemusement. He then told me a variation on a true story, of one of his late customers who died in 1998 of lung cancer and he was only thirty-eight. I say 'variation' because he trots it out every time I light the first one up in his company. He always neglects the truth in it; the bloke concerned smoked sixty a day and actually died of bowel cancer. It started there and spread to his lung later. A sad story nonetheless but Tel always tells it to my detriment and never gets it right, indeed embellishes it to the extent that you'd never leave the house, or breathe in.
We caught the 10.38 and were surprised there weren't more Town on the train. Only a few exited at Ipswich station. We admired the scenery en route; the classic view of the Stour overlooking Manningtree and Mistley, the wheaten fields between Brantham and Tattingstone, the strangely commercial sprawl of additions that now graces Jimmy's Farm. It changes so little, apart from the seasons, that any additions are critically assessed. "Makin' a bleedin' fortune that Jimmy" said Tel as he surveyed his grounds and the man-made ponds and bouncy castles for the kids. It did seem like a rustic Disneyland.
We'd imagined a plethora of police for Stoke, who, although not Lids or the Scum, nonetheless have a fairly murky hooligan past. But all was quiet at the station, and the Station Bar was seemingly empty. We walked into the town, Tel stopping now and then to massage his calf and complain of what he likes to think is the onset of arthritis. A brief hiatus at Ladbrokes near the Giles statue for his weekender footy bet (he now only gambles when with me, he said) and a tenner spent on four £2.50 lines, one of which we got perfect but he's probably only won about fifty quid (wins for Arsenal, Rangers, Brighton, Leicester and Bradford, who were playing Colchester and so were the first to be picked as Tel thinks Col U are heading to non-league).
Into the pub just after 11, the first two pints of amber nectar cost me nigh on a tenner. East Coast IPA followed, and then we made for the Cricketers. Lunch outside, a burger for him, chicken in a basket for me. Several pints followed, then JD and Cokes and then brandies. By 2.30pm, when we decided to stroll back to PR leisurely, I was nearly three sheets to the wind. He slurred a bit. We separated at the Willis building crossing, him to walk into the new Sir Alf entrance and me too SBR. He wanted me to walk to Sir Alf as he wasn't sure how it worked, but we split regardless. He said he'd text me from Beatties if we were four down by half-time. Clearly, he never did.
Everywhere looked spiffy and new outside SBR. The usual rubbish overflowing from bins was absent, as was the half-eaten burger buns and slippery fried onions adhering to the pavement like dying slugs. No queues to get in. The Sir Bob denizens warmed up voices within. The seagulls swooped and flitted. It was like a normal home game, only with more people and sort of cleaner.
You all saw the game, right? We were much the better team and the Kayden goal down our end was justification of everything that went before. The relief and joy was palpable when he escaped his marker and side-footed in. The bloke in front of me had mock-groaned when we took off Broady for Kayden earlier. Mind, he'd also said he thought Chappers was trying too hard and that Hirsty had fed off scraps for too much of the match. Sam Morsy was roundly acclaimed to be MOTM, although I thought Janoi was decent, myself.
I met back with Tel at the far entrance to the car park and he beamed, a self-conscious smile of appreciation, which is rare in him, especially at Portman Road. His first Season-ticket game and we'd won convincingly. Back down the pub. We chose Yates. He fancied a cocktail and Vodka Revolutions never really does it for him.
We left at seven and walked to Trongs. My voice was creaking (too much singing and shouting) and I'm hoarse today. A mix of starters at a table near the back, crispy seaweed and filo pastried prawns and things in sweet and sour sauce that tasted fatal but were delicious at the same time. A bottle of white wine. Then more brandies, after peking duck and noodles and rice and sticky chilli beef and steamed bok choy in oyster sauce. A feast. Mrs Tel promised to meet us at Manningtree station at 11pm and so we walked on air back to Ipswich rail, past the scene of earlier victory. Onwards and upwards.
"Least they won" said Tel, a bit ungraciously as the train pulled away and we watched the glinting reflections of cars on the road in our window. The lights on the Stour were magically reflected on the water as we slowed to pull in at Manningtree. "Been orlrite, that" said Tel. "See ya for the Leeds" he added. We won't be eating in Trongs for that, but we have decided to do the usual indian in Manningtree. Let's hope his calves don't play him up on the walk from the station.
|  |
| |  |
| The Warky Championship Report: Stoke City (H) on 15:40 - Aug 13 with 1227 views | John_Warks_Willy |
I commend your memory for such detail after what was clearly a fairly solid session 😁 |  |
| |
| The Warky Championship Report: Stoke City (H) on 20:43 - Aug 13 with 846 views | hype313 |
Brandies at Chinese Dentist is dangerous... |  |
| |
| |
By continuing to use the site, you agree to our use of cookies and to abide by our Terms and Conditions.
