| The Warky League One Report: Oxford (a) and Tranmere (a) 12:27 - Jan 19 with 1020 views | Warkystache |
A fortnight into the new year and wet, windy and cold down our way. My log burner has seen the first fires at home; the central heating proving a feeble match for the seeping, numbing chill. Country walks mean wellies and a sturdy coat, returning with mud splashes on jeans and numb digits. All I need is a flat cap and an excitable Golden Retriever.
I didn't go to Oxford. I could have. It's not a huge trek from Birmingham. But it is a trek, and I left early on Tuesday as the sky threatened to fall in and the wind blew me back down the A14. Pepys was once quoted, at watching two circus dogs perform, that the true miracle wasn't that they did it well, but that they did it at all. That was my take on the Oxford game. Birmingham was saturated at 4pm. They did well to lay on a game of any sorts in those circumstances.
The working week wasn't punctuated by Terry, who was busy driving across the wastelands of the East to pick up and deliver goods. I got a text on Wednesday ("been in Attenboro' al day) which I took to mean Attleborough, lest he's found Sir David filming three-toed throwbacks somewhere in deepest Norfolk. It was a big miss, especially the curry house and the pub on Friday eve, but then he sent another text on Thursday to invite me for a chinese and a drink on Saturday ("If your not do anyting betta") which I was, but it was easily cancelled.
So the 0-0 v Oxford, though uninspiring by all accounts, at least saved us from another defeat at the hands of an (increasingly) eager promotion rival. The Coventry fans at work weren't impressed, but then they rarely are. It must be demeaning to have no home and yet a chequered and more satisfying history than some clubs currently populating the Premier League. There is an affinity there, between us, the type that can bemoan the modern game and yet punctuate conversations with 'When we won the cup' and 'when we were regulars in the old First Division and beat Man U'. They were busy gearing up for next weekend's big game, the cup fourth round against their landlords Birmingham. The banter started at 8.30am sharp last Monday, and has grown increasingly juvenile and, by turns, funnier as the week went on. The Birmingham City fans treat it with condescension. They are the Norwich to our blue heaven. If things get too near the knuckle, they resort to "Wivout oos yer woul'nt 'ave a team to s'port, loike". Saturday could be interesting....
So I got through the week and Saturday came, bright skied and cold, the perfect day for a brisk walk and a pub stop, possibly a pate ploughmans in front of the fire, knocking six layers of mud on their parquetted floor and trying to rub the streaks off my trousers. So I caught the bus into Mistley and wandered a bit of the Essex Way, admiring the estuary views of the Royal Hospital School at Holbrook in the winter sun, leaving the pub when the sky turned pink on the horizon, going home on the bus to have a quick shower and change to meet Tel at 7pm.
The Chinese was deserted apart from two blokes in leather jackets in the takeaway bit, perusing the dog-eared menu and asking the inscrutable woman behind the bar what the difference was between chow mein and chop suey. Tel hadn't arrived so I took the proferred table at the back and ordered a Tsing Tao and a bowl of their Szechuan ribs to while away the wait.
I'd eaten all but three when he arrived, a bit breathlessly, having difficulty getting his right arm out of his coat sleeve as the waitress held it for him. "Traffic's murder on the Ramsey road" he muttered, taking his seat opposite. "Wife nearly din't bovver". He eyed the dwindling dish of ribs and then piled in, sucking meat and sauce from bone, talking with half a mouthful. His lager arrived, served on a tray and set before him much like the three kings bestowed their gifts to the infant Jesus. "Ta" he said to the waitress' back as she went to fetch our prawn crackers.
We discussed work. "Tha' Callum's a funny one" he said, talking about his co-pilot for the deliveries. "S'posed ter be savin' fer University in Se'tember, now 'e announces 'e's off ter 'is mate's skiin' 'oliday in Croatia in Febry". He shattered a prawn cracker into snow with his mouth and munched noisily. We ordered the usual plethora of starters. "Kids these days" he filtered through a prawn cracker. "Dunno the meanin' of savin' a bit when they geddit. Take 'is lunch.." (here he pointed a knife at me, handle first, proving his point). "Now me, ah take a packed lunch, bit'o' cheese, few grapes, wife does me a 'am sarnie or a beef one wiv pickle, depends wot we got in. An' I'm well 'appy. Don' need much me at lunch, always 'ave a good brekkie before I go, coupler bits 'o' toast wiv marmite, cup'o'tea an' a glass of OJ, might 'ave an om'lette if we got a few eggs the wife wants usin' up". He winked at me to show he was still on the ball when it came to breakfast.
"Now 'im, 'e don' bovver wiv brekkie. Goes 'ungry all mornin'. Then on the journey, 'e sees a McDonalds or a Subway or summink and it's 'Can we stop 'ere Terry? I need summink ter eat'. If 'e org'nised hisself betta, 'e wouldn't need ter waste 'is money on that palaver".
He relapsed into brooding gloom, lightening momentarily as our starters arrived, opening the bamboo steamer that held the pancakes and taking two, spreading them lavishly with duck and cucumber and then drizzling the hoi sin sauce on (and over the tablecloth) before rolling them into rough cylinders and taking a bite. Most of the meat and sauce chose this moment to evacuate through the over side and he mopped them up with his fingers.
I asked where he'd been this week and he told me. It sounded like a cockney version of the Proclaimers hit 'Letter from America'. "Mondy Wellin'borough, then Norfampton, stoppin' in Dunstable for a pick up, Tuesdy Purfleet, Wensdy Attlebro', that woz a funny place, pub was shut at 12.00 lunchtime and we 'ad to deliver a stachoo ter some bung'low an' the bloke looked like Lurch, Fursdy was Boston, Fridy Saxmundum an' Beccles. Terday woz Buntin'field, then on ter Braintree an' then Halstead". You worked today? I said, shocked. "Oh yeah. I 'ave ter work two saterdys in a monf now. Today and next Saterdy is mine". He looked unconcerned about this, but I thought 'Blimey, six days a week, he must be coining it in'. Then I wondered how Mrs Tel was taking it.
We left the Chinese and headed for the pub. Tel ordered the brandies and stood laughing with the barmaid as I took the table nearest and dumped our coats. "Used ter know 'er, she woz a mate of Paula's, fink her name's Lauren" he said as he came back, the ice rattling in the glasses. 'Whatever happened to Paula?' I asked him. I hadn't heard of her for ages. "Runnin' 'er own store, fink iss in Loughton" said Tel, dismissively. "I aint seen or 'eard from 'er or Blake since October larse year. Bit 'urt to be 'onest. You'd've fought they'd've been in touch, jus' ter let me knar they're all right". He took a draught of his brandy and started playing with his beer mat, distractedly.
We drank a fair bit but not too much, enough to make the cold seem irrelevant, not enough to make the whole world seem so. I got home at twelve, thanks to Mrs Tel giving me a lift. She looked happy to see me. She's also changed her hair; she's now got a sort of purpley-pink tint in it. She drove in her carpet slippers.
I had a quick spliff before bed, sat on my freezing cold metal patio chair, the stars twinkling above and my breath steaming around me like mist in a dip. My muddy wellies had frozen to the spot on my outside mat. I felt the peace of one whose side won 2-1 away and nearly crawled back into the automatic promotion places. 'Life's not bad' I surmised, getting sleepy on a mix of content and grass. Indeed it's not. It carries on regardless.
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| The Warky League One Report: Oxford (a) and Tranmere (a) on 12:58 - Jan 19 with 957 views | factual_blue |
I think the Pepys quote was in fact Samuel Johnson, who observed that a woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.” |  |
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| The Warky League One Report: Oxford (a) and Tranmere (a) on 13:02 - Jan 19 with 945 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky League One Report: Oxford (a) and Tranmere (a) on 12:58 - Jan 19 by factual_blue |
I think the Pepys quote was in fact Samuel Johnson, who observed that a woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.” |
Thank you! Thought it was either Johnson or Pepys. Chose the wrong one again!! | |
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| The Warky League One Report: Oxford (a) and Tranmere (a) on 14:03 - Jan 19 with 878 views | Ftnfwest |
Good stuff. Any news on the Blake and Paula front? Just wondering if the ‘honeymoon period’ is over! |  | | |
| The Warky League One Report: Oxford (a) and Tranmere (a) on 14:21 - Jan 19 with 852 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky League One Report: Oxford (a) and Tranmere (a) on 14:03 - Jan 19 by Ftnfwest |
Good stuff. Any news on the Blake and Paula front? Just wondering if the ‘honeymoon period’ is over! |
Dunno. Tel would've said but I think he's not heard either.
The fact they're living in Harlow at the moment in a rented place probably is the only thing I've gleaned. I'm sure they're happy, though..... | |
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