Thus, when I arrived at the B&B I could relax and have a cuppa, and eat the little pack of ginger biscuits they’d laid out. The life! As is my wont, I still cut it fine, and pulled up outside the ground (actually some way out, in Old Colwyn Bay) with 3 minutes to kick-off. There was some line of cars at the ground and, after faffing around with my coat and glasses’ case, I strode up the hill and made it in time to see the teams come out. (This was at the cost of losing said glasses, which must have fallen out of my pocket, stuffed as it was with either gloves or woolly hat. I take no chances with these evening games.)
I was amazed at the ground. Virtually all-seater, save for a bit of terrace at either end of one of the side stands. Behind the far goal, the Bill Murray Stand (no, not THE Bill Murray) had 3 rows of seats. Why bother? Why not have a terrace at this end? A conversation with a fan suggested Colwyn Bay were preparing for Europe, which is some ambition since they currently stand in the second tier of Welsh football. That said, I was told they’re Wales’s 5th best supported club, after the 4 EFL teams. And that looked about right tonite, as a busy crowd of 742 came to see the home side dismantle Prestatyn 7 (seven) 0 (nil).
Indeed, where is Prestatyn? It must be local, as a few reprobates from my new found teacher friend’s school (in Prestatyn) were there. It made me wonder though. Do the only places I’ve heard of in Wales contain either a castle, a holiday camp, or both? Prestatyn, Caernarvon, Rhyl, etc I hadn’t looked at a league table (it was 2nd v bottom) but there were a couple of hints at Prestatyn’s trials and tribulations. The centre forward was as wide as he was tall, and it wasn’t through years of being on the beer (maybe it was?) He only looked about 20. Another girthy, though taller player, stalked the midfield in slow motion, always half a dozen seconds behind where the ball had been. Let’s be honest, both these two were built for rugby. But that meant the visitors were essentially playing with 9 men. And then the keeper, in his tracky bottoms like a non-league Gabor Kiraly. When you’re saving 25 yarders with your FEET, you’ve got a problem. But all 3 tried.
The goals flew in, the only surprise being there weren’t more of them. This was in part due to a period of shooting on sight at the start of the second half, which cost my teachery friend her beer. Why wouldn’t it be safe, perched on the perimeter fence, 6 yards wide of the goal? After all, there was a giant net spread the length of the pitch to stop flying footballs. Unfortunately, the net was not as taut as ought, and the ball smashed into the pint before pinging back into play. Said pint was all over the poor lady and for a while the bloke next to me and I wondered if she was in tears (she wasn’t, she was ok). Anyway, take heed of the warning at the turnstiles of flying footballs! So beware the 4th side, where I spent the second half, having shuffled around the ground. Although only flat standing, the temptation is to stay close to the clubhouse...and beer. But if you walk on a stretch, to the corner, you can regale yourself of an ice cream! Yes, what else would you want on an October evening in North Wales? Suffice to say, the ice cream van was doing a roaring trade in ice creams covered with something in a toxic shade of blue. The teens couldn’t get enough of it.
The Damage:
£10 ent
= £10
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