| The Warky Report: Villa (a) 19:30 - Jan 27 with 1214 views | Warkystache |
The ticket had been bought by my (now former, sadly) colleague Andy, a man who has been with the Villa since his birth in 1975. He'd been a Junior Villain, which made him sound like he'd been out nicking from a young age and then been caught and chucked in Borstal. Expecting 'McVicar' like tales of cells, slop outs and psychotics, it was something of a let down to realise this was the Witton equivalent of the Junior Blues, with its mascot wannabes and its birthday cards 'from' Paul Mariner. Still, he got to meet Tony Morley once. He looked proud at this.
I'd not been back to the Brum office in 2 weeks and still haven't. My credit card shrugged and permitted me a night in 'otel, which I chose as Saturday night, from Trivago, which gave me a choice of fine establishments down the Hagley Road at £76 inc. breakfast. Reasoning it was just for a bed and some fried stuff in the morning, I ignored the '70's 'Crossroads' decor of the place and looked for Benny. He'd been replaced by Mohammed, a non-English understanding porter who reacted to my casual question about where breakfast was served like it was the £500k question on 'Millionaire' and he hadn't a clue. Still, he hung around for the tip, so I guess money is still the universal language.
More of the Villa away experience in a mo, though. Many read this column for Terry (which I acknowledge) and my erstwhile newsagent has been prolific this past week. First, he has finally rid himself of his brother-in-law; by a miracle his ex-wife Sandy has allowed him temporarily back to the marital home as he'd got work in nearby Rayne. "Issa miricle tha'" said Tel, in the tone of one marvelling at the Sphinx or the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. The cheerful two-fingered wave bye bye it wasn't but Tone was conspicuous by his absence at the Indian we had on Friday night.
The week began with cold and more cold. The mornings frosty enough to mean de-icer, the nights gloomy and cold and damp and dark. Tel had his shop windows cleaned by Findlay, a guy he's known for years whose actual first name is Roy but whom everyone calls by his surname, for reasons I never fathomed. Findlay was dressed for the arctic; his dirty old check shirt unbuttoned to show dirty sweatshirt and multi layered t-shirts beneath. Tel moaned that he put his prices up last year, but it never occurs to him to use anyone else. The windows were sudsy on Tuesday morning as I called in and there was a lack of effort outside. I went in to find Tel and Findlay drinking tea, he from one of the spare Cadburys Mini Egg mugs Tel kept last Easter when they didn't sell.
I was introduced, and then ignored. They were talking about Spain. Tel goes in three weeks, Findlay went in November. "Me son lives in Alicante" he told me, beaming. "'E's made 'is money aint'ee?" put in Terry, and then for my benefit "Findlay's son used ter work in 'igh Finance fer Santander (pronounced like Ant and Dec) and he moved there in 2011". "Made a bleedin' killin' 'e did" said Findlay proudly. "Gort one'er'them big 'ouses on the seafront, spic missus and two kids, luvly area 'e lives in, all the tapas bars'n' posh rest'rants. Load'er Brits in Alicante, so yer never feel lost fer company in the bars". "Course" he added in an undertone, "Ah don' speak the lingo, me, can say Ohla'n'that but yer need a few English to talk to".
He drained his mug and left it on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of a grimy-looking hand. "Well, on wiv the cleanin'" and nodded a farewell to me. I stood chatting with Tel and heard an old van trying to start, the engine not catching a few times, before it suddenly went and off drove Tel's window cleaner, ladders on the roof rack, sign on the side peeling a bit. It said "_Indla_s Windo_s Har_ich". Tel smiled. "'E's 'ad that van twelve years, no wonder it looks a bit knackered, dunno 'ow 'e affords free trips to Spain a year. Fink 'e does backy runs fer mates, still, gotta luv 'im". I could still hear the van as it pulled away.
The rest of the week was a blur of work and Mickey in the shop. Tel was off Wednesday and stayed out the back on Thursday, emerging like Dracula into the light of the shop to hand me the football bet and make sure I knew we were meeting at 7.30 at the Indian on Friday. "Jers' in case I'm called away termorra, never knaa what the missus might want me ter do". In the event he was there on Friday morning so we had a chat and he had a sausage and egg bap with his tea, the tomato ketchup riding the egg yolk as it slowly drooled from the edges. He mentioned that he might be seeing his bank manager later as the investment account he's using for the money he made on the sale of his father-in-law's property was starting to accrue interest and the bank want him to open something else to pay it into. "Don' really unnerstand it" he admitted, then dismissed it with a roll of his eyes and a smile which said "Nice problem to have innit?"
We met again at 7.45 that evening. I was late as I walked to save money and misjudged how long the walk was. I found him comfortably installed at the table, sipping Cobra and eating poppadoms. "Where you been?" he demanded, a bit put out. "My cab was late, sorry" I muttered, taking my coat off, trying to hide the rosy-cheeked glow that belied the walk.
We ordered another two beers and some more poppadoms, this time with the silver chutneys'n'raw onion server they bring. Tel mumped onions and mango chutney on a whole poppadom and spread it carefully with the spoon, as though buttering toast. He left broken bits on the cloth, which reminded me of old Pathe films of WW2 desert assault, their sandy coloured fragments and the pools of spilt lime pickle adding a macabre touch to the likeness. We had lamb tikka chops and chicken madras and no rice but two keema naans. And Bombay Spuds, which looked well roasted and very spicy. And were. My bedtime burps tasted of them.
Tel spoke about Mrs Tel "She's fine, lookin' forward ter the 'oliday, got 'er check up next week" and Mickey "fank gawd she's back at work, she's a diamond" and the FA Cup "Innit Arsenal-Man Yoo ternight? Eat up an' we'll watch the secon' arf darn the pub". So we did that, and Tel punched the air as the fifty quid of our dosh he'd had on United to win came true. It more than paid for the evening.......
Villa. I was up at 7.20 on Saturday, fingers still strangely yellow from the Bombay Potatoes, looking for my overnight bag and stuffing it with sweatshirts and a spare pair of jeans and my washbag. I left at 8.15, the shower diminishing the yellow stains on my fingers to that of a lemony tinge. I stopped at Kettering services for a poo, the smell clearly too much for the bloke in the cubicle next door, who I clearly heard mutter "F*ckin' nora". Perhaps I should give curry a rest for a while?
Birmingham was bright and cold. I checked into 'Crossroads' and dumped my bag, then had another sh*t in their toilets near reception, this time using the disabled bog to avoid onsmellers. I texted Andy and he replied to catch a 54 bus to the pub, which confused me until I found the right bus stop and the kindly Brummie driver promised to let me know when we reached it. Then came a protracted 30 minute drive around Birmingham, past derelict housing and mean-looking terraces until I was convinced he'd got folk waiting for me in some wasteland to nick my £60 and my i-phone and give me a good kicking into the bargain. But then we rounded a corner and there was the pub, nice and new looking, with Andy waiting outside, smoking a Superkings and looking intently at his phone, his Villa top discernable at the bottom of his coat.
"Alroight mate?" he greeted me and led me into the pub to a corner table where other colleagues Ben and Walshy sat nursing lagers. They were clad in Villa tops over Gap hoodies. They immediately took the piss about Ipswich ("bloody 'ell, wass 'appened ter your lot?" "Three well-easy points terday for us" "Enjoy Walsall next season, son, p'raps we'll meet oop again before it?"). We drank and laughed and bantered and cursed Hurst and Evans, Bruce and Dr No, or whatever their owner's name is.
We ate burgers. They were good burgers. Everyone's trying to be the new 'edgy' burger kitchen, I noticed. These came with gherkins and a sour cream sauce and tomato and lettuce and cheese and jalapeno's. We drank more beers. They ordered shots of vanilla flavour vodka and we drank these. "It's a tradition" said Andy. "We always win when we've been on the vanilla voddies". I crossed my fingers and hoped.
We went to the game. The Holte End was three quarters full, and we were sat near the left hand side as we looked at the pitch. The teams came out. We clapped, and the chant of "Villa, Villa" poured from those around me. We were wearing blue shorts. The first half was dreadful, full of misplaced passes and Villa pressure. Sears kept coming back to help the defence, meaning we had little threat up top when we cleared it. Abraham scored a fortuitous goal and we went in 1-0 down. "Can see why yer stroogling" said Andy. "No pace in tha' lot, we'ze 'ardly any better but we've got classier players". I sat and agreed and we went for a half-time pint. The concourse was murder but we got served quickly. A lesson for SBRL caterers, that.
Second half we improved as it went on. Freddie should've had a penalty. He scored a cracker. They were given a soft penno when Judge moved off their midfielder and he fell like a Jenga stack. I liked Alan Judge. He's the player I wish Flynn Downes could become. Chalobah, who'd done nowt before it, hit the post with a flick of his leg. I ooed, and was told to "Fck off" by the hardcase-looking Villain in front of me, who'd clocked I was Ipswich when I didn't move for their goals. It petered out, and we'd lost again. Still, better game than of late and no relentless pressure like the Rotherham one. We're slowly improving.
We went back to the pub we left and found the same table free. It was mainly empty from 6ish onwards. At 8, we got a cab back into the City and went for a pint of proper beer at Bennett's on the Hill. Then we went for an ATM and ended up in Grapes in the City Centre. I got back at 2am, in a cab as there were loads of panhandlers on the streets and it was cold. The cabbie asked if I'd come for something special and I told him. He snorted. He was a Bluenose. He thought we'd do the Villa sh*te today. He hoped we would, anyway. He charged me a fiver for the trip, which was cheaper than the bus, and smiled as I got out and chucked him a two pound coin as a tip. "Cheers mate, yer goin' down by the way I'm afraid, but yer'll storm that League One. We've been there. I enjoyed it. Big team in a little league'n that". He drove off.
Benny wasn't there to meet me, but Miss Diane was. And she told me where breakfast would be served. "6.30 to noine, mind" she added, noting my intoxication. "Groovy" I think I said. Groovy. Just to reiterate that, at heart, we're all living in the past, us Ipswich-ites. |  |
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| The Warky Report: Villa (a) on 20:23 - Jan 27 with 1075 views | Pendejo |
Hagley Road... If that was the comfort inn I was based there when working in Brum many years ago. Have definitely stayed in better places. |  |
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| The Warky Report: Villa (a) on 21:43 - Jan 27 with 973 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky Report: Villa (a) on 20:23 - Jan 27 by Pendejo |
Hagley Road... If that was the comfort inn I was based there when working in Brum many years ago. Have definitely stayed in better places. |
It was the Comfort Inn I think. Round place, looked like an observatory. Still, it was clean and that. | |
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| The Warky Report: Villa (a) on 21:59 - Jan 27 with 947 views | Westover |
Great read as always.👠|  | | |
| The Warky Report: Villa (a) on 22:01 - Jan 27 with 945 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky Report: Villa (a) on 21:59 - Jan 27 by Westover |
Great read as always.👠|
Thanking you! I got back home at 2pm so have been working on it on and off for a few hours. | |
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