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The Warky Report: Wolves (h) 10:25 - Jan 28 with 2599 viewsWarkystache

The pools of rainwater in the road slopped lazily over the edge of the pavement and rippled in wakes as the traffic gingerly negotiated their outskirts. Darkness lit them like abstract art; the reflections of rainbows from neon shop fronts.

"It's bluddy ray-nin owt there agin" commented our office cleaner to no-one in particular as I entered our Birmingham office through the wide double doors with hair plastered to head and great dark patches on my new coat. Doreen has been our cleaner for fifteen years; longer than I've worked for the company. She's fifty-four, has her hair shampooed and set weekly on a Saturday, plays bingo with her daughter and her neighbour on Tuesday nights, wears a lot of velour under her light blue tabard and laughs like a hyena in an iron lung. I suspect the last is due to her fondness for rollies; she can roll a fag (with a filter) one handed. If she was ever to be immortalised in film, she'd be played by Julie Walters. As a more glamorous Mrs Overall.

Doreen spends her employment mainly wandering round the building before eight armed with a red plastic bucket filled with cloths and things in squirty bottles. She spends from 8.01 to 9.30am with our security guards at the main entrance, where she 'mothers' them and slurps tea from an Aston Villa mug, and where they tell her smutty jokes and made-up brags about their weekend love lives. Her laugh can frequently be heard on the top floor; she has been warned about this countless times by po-faced managers, but has successfully ignored these warnings. She's also good at pointing out the bleeding obvious.

So my working week began, soaked, chilly and miserable. I missed Terry in my haste to get to Brum on Monday; instead I stopped at a garage with attached M&S for my Times, milk and fags. I saw him on Tuesday, an irritated viper spitting invective about his brother-in-law, who (unwisely) rang him on Monday evening to say the late father-in-law's house in Gants Hill needed more extensive renovation than the mooted (and cheap) re-tile and magnolia emulsion job Tel was hoping for. "Rippin' out the barf 'cos the seals've rotted and puttin' in a noo shower" moaned Tel, who is in the unfortunate position of having Mrs Tel agree with her brother about the work needed. "Iss gonna cost a bleedin' fortune". He just wants to do a 'Changing Rooms', a quick slap of paint to mask and fool potential buyers. "They're gonna get a good deal anyway" he pointed out. I nodded.

So the week progressed; him moaning at me about the cost and nipping out to Wickes and B&Q for endless pamphlets showing shower prices, me nodding and trying to unload sundries on his counter, clutched to my meaty chest (it's surprising how cold those plastic containers of milk are. My manboobs felt like Captain Oates' forehead after I'd done the journey from fridge to news stand via the Mr Kipling fruit pies. Never mind the shower; I wish he'd invest in a few baskets in the shop). The treachery of Mrs Tel wasn't forgotten. "Back 'is decision over 'er arn 'usband" he muttered, looking like Caesar as the knife cleaved his back. "Bleedin' lood-cruss".

We got to Friday, my shoes now squelching in the dry, which showed how wet it'd been in the Midlands. Tel did the footy bet and passed it to me, an air of ill-grace sporting his visage almost permanently. "Now 'e wants a noo karsi put in" he spat at me. "We're 'pparently lookin' at a noo kitchin'n'all. Ah told 'er larse night; why don'ee jus' go the 'ole 'og an' pull the bleeder darn 'n we'll pay to rebuild it?" She finks ah'm jus' being daft". A petulant back-hander on a pile of Suns. He's definitely not a happy bunny.

Saturday morning was lovely. Hazy sunshine, blue skies, a cup of tea at the patio table, watching the long-tailed tits bunching and flitting between feeders and the rose arch. It felt like spring. Even my daffs are starting to get taller. Didn't last of course. More of that in a mo.

It was Lee on his own in the shop, so I didn't stop long. Lee's conversation is stilted at the best of times and I barely know him, or him me. He started telling me about a possible landscaping job he'd got pencilled in for the end of February; a "bloke wiv a bit o' lolly 'oo wants a pond and a rockery done in Branfum". He looked pleased with himself. Perhaps working with Tel is getting on his wick? Who knows? Certainly not me.

The fields exhaled the spring-like air as I stood waiting for the 10.01 to Norwich. Manningtree must be my favourite rail station. It has the lot; green pastures, animals grazing, Bestall's Rupert-like vistas of dark woods on the horizon, and the estuary and Stour, glinting like a million diamonds as the sun broke through. The train was a bit late and it was full of people dressed in foul weather gear, but the likeness to spring was by then too vivid to be ruined.

The pub was a bit fuller than I'd normally like and we squeezed around a high table, slopping ale whenever someone moved for the bog or a ciggie, usually me. The ban on their beef stuffs hadn't put people off eating a Wetherspoons and great towering burgers, piles of breaded chicken and steak pies came charging around the tables near us as folk became peckish.

The rain started as a meandering drizzle, then came heavier. I was glad I'd worn my big coat. The walk to PR took in the delights of staff singing in the Ipswich building society and the cries of the fruit and veg sellers in the market. The ground looked shabby in the rain; they really should clean the roof of the SBR soon. The teams entered, they both huddled and then we were away, lusty roars from the crowds anticipating a good game.

It wasn't. It was basically Wolves containing us and nullifying us, with the occasional threat of a counter when Bersant felt like a run or they fancied a go. The goal was avoidable, a weak but well-placed header which lobbed in like a balloon on a breath of wind. The "Luke half-time harangue" ((c) Warky) was based on next managers, someone not as negative, perhaps Maurice Stejn? Luke wasn't happy with the status quo. We needed improvement, a bit of interest, a reason to attend and watch stultifying performances of grind and poor final passes. I agreed with it all. I sense so would a lot of you.

The second half was 45 minutes of stalemate. The Wolves fans sang songs about being top of the league, although I've seen better teams here this season. For the purported £50 million cost of assembly there was still something not quite great about them. They'll clearly address this when they do get promoted and have the funds to buy quality but they set out to negate us, unlike say Fulham who looked a few classes above.

We never got parity and, in truth, never looked likely to. The final whistle bought a resigned, frustrated paean of muttered blames and accusations as we filed down the steps to the exit. It was that sort of game, one which the missing supporters silently offer praise for their absence. It was still wet and I squelched again. Story of my week.

Back home, I showered once more and got ready for a night in Bury, meeting friends for an intimate dinner and a few glasses of fizzy water. My decent work shoes have dried by the way. I stuffed 'em with old copies of the Times in front of the rads at home. No longer wetter than the Town of late, they've re-found their purpose. Let's hope the club can do likewise.

Poll: If we were guaranteed promotion next season, how would you celebrate?
Blog: [Blog] It's Time the Club Pushed On

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The Warky Report: Wolves (h) on 10:40 - Jan 28 with 2554 viewswitchdoctor

“Bleedin lood- cruss”...🤣😂😂....top work as per Warky...👍
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The Warky Report: Wolves (h) on 11:08 - Jan 28 with 2513 viewsThe_Romford_Blue

‘My manboobs felt like Captain Oates' forehead after I'd done the journey from fridge to news stand via the Mr Kipling fruit pies.’


Magnificent stuff

Poll: Would we sell out our allocation for Wembley for a PJ Trophy final?

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The Warky Report: Wolves (h) on 13:00 - Jan 28 with 2433 viewsBenters2

Lovely stuff.
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The Warky Report: Wolves (h) on 22:27 - Mar 5 with 634 viewsMillsyVOR

Manningtree station👌 🚊
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