YES! I was in London village, my home of 28 or so years that I hadn’t set foot in for over a year due to ‘circumstances beyond my control’ (another phrase I’ve grown used to with TFL over the years). I’d forgotten how much I love London. The ‘blitz spirit’ which means we’re immune to any enemy invasion, whether it be Nazis, terrorists, or pandemics. The number of people staggering around at 3 in the morning…or even walking through Rotherhithe Tunnel (how do they breathe in there?). And foxes scanning the Sarf Landan streets for evidence of kebab. And the beggars / homeless. I’ll say this for Ferryhill, we don’t have people out on the street. (Too bloody cold.)
I’d been eyeing Fulham away for a fortnight, and even my dad’s best efforts to die last week didn’t put me off. (He left his bed for the first time in 13 months, as he was whisked to hospital, choking to death and turning a different colour. Luckily, he survived. Collected at 3pm, he saw a doctor by 10….and was sent home by carriage (ambulance) at 4am. Good job I have a greedy cat – Redfearn woke me up at 3:45 wanting food. Anyway, dad’s fine, or as fine as one can be with Alzheimers, Parkinson’s and renal cancer, to name but three.
I drove down late Friday night, once dad had settled. (I’d arranged my cousin to come and stay Satdy). Roads’d be empty, I thought. Should make good time, I thought. I was kicked off the motorway 4 times, as well as enduring 20 odd miles of ‘average speed limit’ around Northamptonshire. Even coming toward London I was kicked off the M1 as it met the M25. Anyway, it was nice to see so many roadmen out at night. Someone has to put them cones out.
After my longest uninterrupted sleep in a year (see: Redfearn / dad) I was raring to go. Who doesn’t love a trip to Fulham? The walk through the park, the Thames alongside, the Cottage…the ridiculously priced pints in Parson’s Green. Yes, we were back at the White Horse, and given the amount of money I’ve saved by NOT going to the pubs of Ferryhill, who cared that my pint cost £6.80? (Well, Lord Selwood, actually, cos he got it in!) But it wasn’t just any pint. Unpasteurised Pilsner Urquell. This really is the amber nectar, albeit more than 3 times the price of the same pint in its home, Plzen, Czech Republic.
Did I drink too much pre-match? Or was I simply enjoying matchday too much to worry about the match? Dunno. I sat with Anton, 1st half, had a good natter, then joined ‘the boys’ second. I know Fulham ran rings around us, though I was very disappointed in the way we conceded the opener. A cross came, in, Mitrovic was being marked by not one, but two experienced centre halves…oh, no he isn’t. 1-0. Their second…didn’t we give them the ball (I s’pose all goals start from the opposition ‘giving them the ball’)..a lucky rebound and he’s clean through. The 3rd, he shins it in and their 4th we just stand and watch. I don’t know why the left sided defender (Jordan Williams?) doesn’t just applaud too, if he’s that admiring.
Inbetween all that, and them hitting the woodwork twice, and ruining countless other breaks with a misplaced last pass, we actually pull one back at 3-0. Cauley has an open goal, 3 yards out..and hits the post. That’ll do wonders for the lad’s confidence. Big Vic faces a harder job burying the rebound, but shows Cauley how it should be done. 3-1 flattered us, as did 4-1. If Fulham had repeated their 7-0 whitewash of Blackburn, we couldn’t have complained. I loved every minute.
Onwards and upwards!
*** No-one. I hear Palmer played well. I don’t remember him being on the pitch (seriously). If Palmer’s a ball playing midfielder…and we didn’t have the ball…what did he do?
** No-one. I don’t remember Jesus Christ Carlton Morris either, though I heard he came on. Did he start? Either way, his second coming was on a par with the Stone Roses. (Niche cultural reference, that one.)
* No-one. Yeah, yeah, Collins made a couple of saves, but nothing any keeper wouldn’t have dealt with, and he didn’t deal with at least 4 others
Londontykes' MOTM:
1. Palmer 2= Collins / No-one
Despatches: The real highlight of the game was the fans. The worse it got, the louder it got (in the away end). Much to Chris’s annoyance, all we had left was sarcasm and renditions of oldies but goldies. (‘Jason, Jason Jason, Jason Jason, Jason Jason Scotland…Marlon, Marlon Marlon, Marlon Marlon, Marlon Marlon Harewood’ and something about Bambo Diabo’s d*** amongst others. Mind, points knocked off for anything to do with ‘f***ing the Pope’ (WTF???) and I’m left scratching my head at ’10 German bombers’. I didn’t realise Fulham were Nazis. Or was Lord Haw Haw a Cottager? Very probably, from what I’ve heard… But the best was at 2-0. ‘Let’s pretend we’ve scored a goal’ went the chant…and while the away end bounced, the rest of the ground joined in. Fulham had made it three-zero. Still, every time they scored, all you could hear was ‘Barn-sa-lee, Barn-sa-lee’. Home fans to our right smacked their little Leicester City clappers like seals at a circus. And then when we did score, it was met by our new goal chant…’we’ve scored a goal, we’ve scored a goal, we’ve scored a goal.’ I don’t think Chris cared for that one much, either. But, honestly, if we left the sarcasm at home, we’d cry. (Chris then did joke about the new manager taking one look at this bunch and getting back on a plane to Sweden that night. Let’s just say he’s got his work cut out.)
Drink du jour: Like Highlander, there can be only one. Pilsner Urquell, unpasteurised. ‘Arrrr much!?’
Away: A lot more than this team deserves. 1200? Maybe more.
The Damage:
c. £90 petrol
£30 ent
£3.50 programme
= c. £123.50 (plus beers!)
The Tunes:
None. Soaking in the London vibes!
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