| The Warky League One Report: Accrington Stanley (who are they? Exactly) (h) 21:05 - Jan 12 with 931 views | Warkystache |
Post-Christmas depression continues, unabated, checked by minor victories off the pitch and a rather big one on it. The absence of festive lights on dark mornings and evenings (though, apparently, Sandringham keep theirs up until middle February, so Her Majesty can see all the people who'd hoped to have an audience with her on December 10th but were shoe-horned in for the 13th of Feb instead, which I think suits a house in three-toe country, frankly) made everything feel chilly and absent.
The binmen have finally rid me of the remnants of Christmas; the empty bottles (I get these recurring images of two scruffy fat blokes in greasy reflective tabards thinking I'm an alkie) and the cardboard, and the remains of new year food in me green bucket. It's been back-to-work, early starts and dark drives home, texts from colleagues who seem to have been absent for months.
It was a return to work for Tel last Monday. He spent Sunday evening round mine, ostensibly to return the fish kettle I lent Tony and Sandy for their New Year's Day side of salmon, but mainly to tell me in resigned tones about his working week. "Elt'am on Mondy, wiv a call at Dartford on the way 'ome, Wizbeech on Chewsdy, Luton on Wensdy, Ware in 'ertfordshire Thursdy and then Fridy I'm in love". Actually, I think it was Fakenham on Friday. I dunno. I'd stopped paying attention.
He drank his beer out of the bottle. He doesn't trust my standards of cleanliness and has accused me (unjustly) of giving him a glass with lipstick on it once before when he drank at mine. I don't wear lipstick, so it must have been a rogue from my dating days. He made a bit of a thing about Tony cleaning the fish kettle forensically before and after use, so I guess my name has been sullied in his social circles. I wondered how many of his customers were told this tale when he had the shop. No wonder a lot of them spoke to me like I was a bit mentally deficient.
He didn't stay for dinner. He eyed the beef stew I was cooking with the look of a man who might be asked to eat cat, and muttered something hastily about "me'n'the wife's 'avin' sausage'n'mash later". He strictly wasn't supposed to be drinking beer, given his driving work the next day, but I'd got three bottles of Estrella left from New Year so he couldn't resist. We arranged to meet on Friday evening in the Chinese, as he's 'off' curry at the moment.
So the week poured like custard from a jug, messy, turgid, same-old flavours and sights. Awake at 5.30am, gone by 6.45am, at work by 8.50am, there until 5pm, home by 7.30pm, dinner, two wee glasses of scotch, a coffee, watch something crap on the telly, bed, repeat. One of my friends gave me a thoughtful present of some hashish, to help me sleep. I thought I'd wait until this weekend.
Friday finally lumbered up like a Mark Fish warm-up run. I got work out the way, and met up with Tel, who was already in the Chinese imbibing bottled Peroni from a glass and idly munching on prawn crackers. The table cloth in front of him looked like he'd had bad dandruff. "Fine'ly" he said with a touch of irritation. I wasn't late.
We did the football bet on his phone as we waited for the starters. He held the phone up so I could see, as his impatient fingers clicked off passwords and football slips. We did Man U, Liverpool, Everton, and Bristol City. "Need five" said Tel and he dropped to League One, his finger hovering over a home win for the Town. "Jers' dunno, do yer?" he said to himself. Then he saw Portsmouth and the finger went down. We won £215 for a tenner bet, but lost our trust in our team. "Nah value" said Tel, shamefacedly. But we both knew.
We ate and had a few beers and then went to a non-regular pub down the road and had brandies. We got a cab home; Tel paid because he lives further away from the restaurant so he dropped me first. He tried a half-hearted kiss on the lips as I leant in at his window to say bye, but the cab driver thought it was all larks and laughed at my grimace. The cab drove off through the early morning gloom to his bungalow.
I wasn't meeting anyone on Saturday night. January. People need to save a bit of dosh. So I prepared a curry for Saturday evening and set my slow cooker to cook it. A half-leg of lamb in Vindaloo sauce, with a few new potatoes and a handful of birds-eye chillies cut up. I'd do the rice and that when I returned. I nipped to Tesco for the papers early on Saturday morning, and got some plain yoghurt and some poppadoms and a four pack of lager and a bottle of Merlot for later. Plus, and I felt guilty about this, two large packs of Rizla. My hand-rolling skills have long been defunct (and weren't up to much when they were in use as a student) but I fancied trying the weed. Win or lose today, there'd be one cheery town fan that night. Or a very sleepy one, resisting the urge to nip to the all-night garage for a Twix and three Picnics.
First shock was the rail replacement buses at Manningtree. I didn't bother buying a ticket (illegal act #2) and just got on the creaky old double decker bound for Ipswich via a prolonged country journey through Tattingstone and Wherstead. Fellow town fans were thin on the ground, scarfed and coated, Marcus Stewart gloves, blue bobble-hats. We arrived at 11.50 and walked to the pub. Palace v Arsenal and a few pints and some chicken pie and chips. We sat and laughed and everything seemed rosy. A few even predicted big wins for the mighty blues. We laughed harder.
The game, well, you probably saw it as well. Great first half, could've been five up, strange second half, could've played better. We only saw one goal at our end, and that was a Will Keane scuffer the keeper should've saved. Still, 4 goals and a return to the pressing, competent, passionate play we've missed these last couple of months. Keep it up lads.
Came home on the bus replacement and walked back to mine, croaky from the singing and freezing. Forgot about the rice, so ate my curry with poppadoms and splodges of mango chutney and the yoghurt/mint mix I've perfected. I drank the lager and then settled in front of the telly with an occasional table in front with two opened ciggies and the little plastic packet containing what looked like pot-pourri. For one moment I thought it was pot-pourri, and mates were having a good jape at my expense. I rolled one, inexpertly (it looked a bit like a mini curly-wurly) and then, chastened by the crap on the box, retired to my garden patio furtively to partake.
An hour later, I was laughing fit to bust at Casualty. The wine slipped down so well, I don't even recall opening it. 'Match of the Day' took on the deep profundity of a Dostoevsky six-parter; the football just seemed to go on and on, stretching into infinity, punctuated by old jug ears and Danny Murphy talking b*llocks. The room suddenly decided to start spinning at about twelve, when I went for a wee. Gently at first, then some gremlin got hold of the controls and I walked back to my chair clinging to the walls. It was endemic throughout the house. When I went to bed at one, I had to cling to the bannisters like Hillary ascending Everest. It stopped momentarily when I lay in bed, which I was thankful for. It meant I could sleep.
Awoke at eight this morning, taste like something of the night had used my mouth as a latrine and then its' mausoleum. The crick in my neck ached insistently and my eyes refused to focus, so everything came out of a faint mist. It got better. I made it for the papers at twelve. The staff looked at me like I'd spent the night sleeping in someone's shed. Still....we won a game at long last.
Roll on Oxford on Tuesday.
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| The Warky League One Report: Accrington Stanley (who are they? Exactly) (h) on 21:15 - Jan 12 with 892 views | Ftnfwest |
Read that a bit lazily and thought you’d woken up laughing in casualty rather than at it on the tv! |  | | |
| The Warky League One Report: Accrington Stanley (who are they? Exactly) (h) on 21:23 - Jan 12 with 868 views | StochesStotasBlewe |
Marvelous. 3 points, merlot, a spliff and a decent win from the bookies. |  |
| We have no village green, or a shop.
It's very, very quiet.
I can walk to the pub. |
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| The Warky League One Report: Accrington Stanley (who are they? Exactly) (h) on 21:32 - Jan 12 with 844 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky League One Report: Accrington Stanley (who are they? Exactly) (h) on 21:15 - Jan 12 by Ftnfwest |
Read that a bit lazily and thought you’d woken up laughing in casualty rather than at it on the tv! |
I thought I'd end up in Casualty during the stairs climb. They seemed to be six miles tall as well. | |
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