Grey all around. The Xmas cheer taken down until next December, the '1984' dystopia and gloom descending on the bungalows and semi-detached's round my way. House lights sparked at four pm, reflecting on roads and shiny streets, dappling warmth onto the canvas where all else was ink and bare branches.
Still, despite the gloom, we won! More in a minute......
Terry's shop reminds me of the closing credits of 'Open All Hours' in the early dark morns. I sometimes expect to see him outside, ruminating aloud on life's misadventures as he cleans a window or puts out the advertising hording for Walls ice cream, a rusty, optimistic ad for something no-one wants. He'd get on well with Dolly in that respect.
He'd run out of festive cheer last week and was back to his seasonal affective disordered normality on Monday, a wraith dressed in comfy shirt and ageing Levis. His counter was awash with plastic tape from the paper deliveries; his back room a hive of grubby-fingered activity as Mickey checked 'em in and sorted 'em. I picked up the Times and some milk, and he snickered about our cup defeat at Accrington, although he blustered more the previous Sunday. He complained about the way I'd done my tie ("'ave yer tried a Win-zer knot before? Well tha' just looks like we used ter wear 'em at school in the Seven'ies") and he moaned when Mickey went for a fag ("yer blowin' that in, shut the door for gawd's sake") and he moaned about his luck and his life and his Coke machine.
He was better on Tuesday. A regular had come in and, knowing he was a sucker for a bargain, had sold him two Medium cashmere jumpers he'd got from relatives for Xmas but couldn't fit into. "Twenty quid for two an' both M&S" he bragged as he showed me them, folded neatly into a Morrison's bag for life. He took one out and put it on to prove it fitted. It made him look good, the dark blue with his jeans and his Ben Sherman checked shirt. "Aint wearin' 'em 'ere" he said and he took it off again without giving me the benefit of seeing what the other one looked like. His midriff looked like he'd stuffed a balding Gnasher from the Beano down his trouser top.
We spent the week arguing about football results for the Saturday bet and making arrangements to meet at our favourite Indian, the Mogul, on Friday night. This involved Mrs Tel driving us and picking us up again. I asked why she didn't just join us. "'Ates Indyun, the wife" sniffed Tel. "She won't even eat a korma". I offered petrol money but he waved it away. "I can afford it" he said with a smile.
I caught a cold on Thursday. It started, as all colds do, with the vague feeling of muzziness, turned into a slightly snotty nose and then I woke in the early hours of Friday shivering in bed. Having taken two paracetamol and slept, I woke knackered and cold at 5am and decided I'd better go to Birmingham anyway. This was an omen of good fortune, as I've just been told that I'm temporarily being given London and Colchester to cover until the end of March. So no more long drives! And London only one day a week!
I told Tel as we met on Friday evening, in the car as Mrs Tel drove us into Manningtree, avoiding pot holes and limping along at 40mph until Tel said, pointedly, "The accel'rators the pedal on the right, luv". She smiled at this and put two fingers up at him, so we avoided having to walk home later. She couldn't drop us right outside so Tel got her to drop us near the pub and we went and had a couple to stimulate our appetites. Tel waved her bye as she drove off. "Notice she's drivin' 'ome quicker than she did coming?She's prob'ly 'avin' an affair". He grinned at me. "Pity the poor sod if she is; she 'ates missin' Eastenders and Corrie".
We drank our drinks and he told me about his forthcoming Spanish sojourn, ten days in Marbella at the same five star hotel they did last year, only "Ah got a discount an' we're only payin' fer seven nights 'cos we dun't like all incloosive" The trip happens on Friday 8th February; I've got a week off from that Friday and am taking him to Stansted. I offered, before you ask. Tony had work and the local taxi firm have fallen out with Tel after he stopped delivering their free local papers. "Ain't got the paperboys any more" he said, with a trace of relish. It'll be ten days of sun, sangria and steaks, although Tel will probably settle for the local beer.
Our curry was lovely. I had a mixed kebab starter, chicken vindaloo and cauliflower bhaji main, and we ordered enough sides and breads to feed half the restaurant. Tel ate all of his lamb keema naan and his King Prawn Jalfrezi without getting any on the tablecloth, a feat that should have earned him a standing ovation from the waiters, looking around at other diners' tables which resembled a bad roadkill day on the A14. We paid and went back down the pub for brandies, then rang Mrs Tel at 11, who was on her way anyway. I felt guilty and bought her a bunch of flowers in Marks on Saturday morning to say thanks.
Tel didn't fancy the game. "Too much ter do, matey, sorry an' all that but I gave Mickey the weekend off so she could go to Westfield Saturday mornin'. She's meetin' Paula an' Blake, 'e's off ter the West 'Am game". So Blake's a hammer. Another good reason to hate him.
In the end, I waited on a blustery cold grey mid-day platform at Manningtree for the 12.12 train, joining friends for a drink in The Cricketers, then trying Yates' when it got too busy and finishing lunch with 2-4-1 cocktails. The walk to the ground was punctuated with repeated grumbles about 'needin' a jimmy' and a very quick on at The Curve Bar, a Grouse apiece to keep out the cold. We finally made it at three as the players came out and Section 5 were warming up with a quick chorus of the "Won the League in '62"song. Rotherham clad in a strange yellow and blue away kit. Their fans were in the pub saying this would be their first away win. "Spoke too soon" I thought, and I was right.
Everything went right on the pitch first half. We looked sharp, had some great movement and the new signings gelled. Keane's finish sent us into raptures; the first time a Keane has done that here ever. One of the half-time competitors even got the ball through one of the holes in that canvas thingy they put over the goal. Second half, all I remember is Rotherham attacks and desperate defending. It sort of angered me. Rotherham. We should be piddling all over teams like that. It's a confidence thing, clearly.
We held on and celebrated, Paul Lambert doing a better fist pump than Chambers as he clapped us. Perhaps he's the future? Perhaps this'll be the brand new dawn? Who knows? It felt good to finally be exiting the ground having watched us win an admittedly poor game when our opposition arguably deserved a point. It doesn't happen often. But it cheered my grey weekend. See you for the Villa game? |  |
By continuing to use the site, you agree to our use of cookies and to abide by our Terms and Conditions.
