| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) 12:34 - Mar 8 with 1250 views | Warkystache |
Horsey Road, seven a.m. The cars queue in impatient lines and the exhaust fumes splutter and disperse, like ghosts on the wind. It's just getting light. The scudding clouds threaten rain and the breeze animates the trees. There's something dead by the side of the road; or is it just an old bit of sacking? The washed-out crisp bags flutter like butterflies in the thorny hedges. Plastic bottles filled with funny yellow liquid lay abandoned by the verges, occasionally being rolled briefly by the breeze, as though some great bored energy grew quickly tired of playing and went off to see if there was more fun to be had riffling the grass in the fields.
It's Thursday. My last day of the week. Tomorrow, it'll be Friday, and I'll be at home, in bed, hopefully asleep. My day-dreams are rudely interrupted by the flash of the display screen in my car. It's Tel. I pick up the call on loudspeaker. "Orlrite?" says a disembodied voice, the sound of a motor engine backing him up as surely as the Blockheads with Ian Dury. "OK ter talk?" says the voice when I say 'yes'. "Ah've jus' passed Needem on the A-four'een" it continues, as though an in-depth inventory of his journey is a vital prologue to conversation. "Fought ah might've seen yer 'cos you gotta come this way an'all for Brum, like, intcher?". No. I'm working from Colchester today. "Oh". A pause. "Well, thass good 'cos the road's murder rarnd Ipswich. I 'ad ter wait at least ten minits ter get on the A-four'een". Oh, I reply. Sounds busy. "Yeh, well, ah'm off ter the A140 ter Scumville. Deliverin' two noo lawnmowers an' a load of fence panels. Some bloke in Thorpe Sent Andrew. Dunno where that is. Me tomtom's annoying' me so ah switched it off. Callum don' know eiver. Blind leading' the blind, we are terday".
He actually rang to say he fancied going to Trongs on Friday night. "Bit'o'a change. Nice chinky, ravver than the local muck". He'd already booked it, so the call was just a cursory one to make sure I'd be coming. "We'll get the wife ter drive us in an' get a cab 'ome, she's out shoppin' at Westfield wiv Sandy and the niece on Sat'dee so she owes me one". He couldn't make Saturday night. He's working 'til five and then meeting Mrs Tel and Tony and Sandy and the kids and they're dining in Braintree.
He rang off, wishing me a good day at work, which I reciprocated. The week had been a long, dull one, punctuated by Tuesday night's result v Fleetwood, for which I took a hammering from the gleeful Cov fans at work, anticipating their statutory three points when they left the concrete confines of their home city to travel by coaches and trains to the rural tranquility of East Anglia on Saturday. They harangued me in breathless huddles, anxious about the availability of public houses and, probably, electricity in Ipswich. They viewed it much as one would view a trip to the remote foothills of Siberia. The good news was that we were obviously crap, so it would be a joyous journey home.
It was a relief to only have to put up with this for one day. The opportunity for a flexi-day on Friday was too great to resist and I jumped at it, using the old excuse of 'working from home' if anyone asked. Which they didn't. So, naturally, I didn't pretend to. I planned to work from Colchester on Thursday, citing 'Coronavirus', 'tiredness' and 'hospital appointment locally' as excuses. None were strictly true. Although I did nip to Boots for hand wipes.
Tel worked in Maldon on Friday, so was home by three, and he rang me to ask if I fancied nipping down the pub for a late afternoon snifter before Trongs. We met at five, him showered and smelling sharply of Polo and Old Spice deodorant, dressed in his YSL blue shirt and denims. The pub was empty save for two old boys at the bar sipping their IPA's and hoping one of the barmaids had to bend forward so they got a flash of boob. "Ah prefer it lark this" said Tel as we sat at the table near the back, our pints resting awkwardly on the beer mats. He found Thorpe St Andrew in the end. "Bleedin' palaver it was though. The traffic woz murder an' we passed a Maccy D drive froo so Callum 'ad ter stop for a McMuffin an' a coffee an' that. The bloke was funny. Not funny ha-ha. He 'ad this wart on 'is fore'ead. Looked lark Stavros out Doctor 'oo". That's Davros isn't it?, I questioned. "Nah. You're finkin' of Greece. We went on 'olidee to Davros once, me'n'themissus. I got the trots".
Mrs Tel arrived in the car at six thirty. She honked the horn to let us know she was there. Tel, halfway through a pint, shot a look of irritation at the door and said "She can wait a minit. Told 'er six forty an' iss barely gone half six". He sipped the remainder of his pint leisurely as though proving a point. The horn sounded again. This time more insistent. Tel muttered "Bleedin' 'ell, wass she playing' at?" and set the remains of his pint on the table with a bang, getting up and going outside to remonstrate. He came back quite quickly. "Ready then?" he asked me, draining his glass in one and grabbing his jacket hurriedly. Yes. More than ready.
The journey in was untroubled. Mrs Tel had different coloured hair, cut into a sort of loose bob. It was golden honey coloured. It suited her better than the usual chestnut. I complimented her on it and she said "Thank you" shyly, as though pleased someone had noticed. Tel said "She 'ad it done larse night. Sadie, her usual 'airdresser. Cost eighty notes though" he added, as though this was unfathomable for a hair cut. She glanced at him sideways and he shut up.
She dropped us and turned round in Silent Street, heading back for what Tel described as "a nite of Eastenders catch up an' Call the bleedin' Midwife, stuff lark that she wotches. Drives me nuts. Can't stand all them wimmin' screechin' on or 'avin' babies wiv all blood an' that over 'em". I gave her my remaining four fags, out of sight of Tel, as she left. She gave me a conspiratorial smile of thanks. We walked to the restaurant and were seated, ordering Tsang Tao's and starters, Tel's grasp of pronunciation as stringent as the sweet and sour sauce he wanted on his dumplings.
""ome to Coven'ry tomorro' then" said Tel, his eyes hooded as he tried blowing on his won-ton soup to cool it. "Should be free points easy, that. They ain't got a pot ter piddle in, 'ave they? Playing' their 'ome games at Birminam's ground". I pointed out that they were the current league leaders. "Nah" said Tel, as though addressing a simpleton. "They aint top". He still wasn't entirely convinced when I showed him the league table on my phone. "Bleedin' old that is" he said dismissively. "Still..." he reached for his mobile phone and tapped up the Ladbrokes site. "Not done the bet yet. Better not pick the Town, just in case". He did six teams to win, Liverpool, Leeds, Brentford, Stoke, Reading and then paused on the last one. "Do yer really fink Town'll lose tamorro?" Yep. "Right then, well on your 'ead be it" and he did Coventry to win. Don't know how much we won, but I'm seeing him later tonight for a drink so, hopefully, it was a good day. Despite my being proved right.
We got home at twelve-thirty. We didn't drink that much so there were no 'pissing in the hedges' shenanigans as Tel left the cab. He paid for the meal. I paid the cab back. And the drinks. He wished me a good night, and hoped we'd beat the Midlands lot, despite the bet. His porch was in darkness as he walked to the door. Mrs Tel had clearly had enough for the night.
Saturday, well. It came. Toast and marmalade and a quick scan of the paper, fed the birds, showered, dressed properly, walk to the station in the warmish sun, got the train, met mates in the pub, drank and watched Liverpool jammily beat Bournemouth. We had hot dogs for lunch. They were lukewarm. Still, smothered in mustard and ketchup and bits of chilli, they weren't bad.
The walk to the ground was shared with two-tone Cov fans in their white away shirts, all drunk from the beers and the joy of being top. I didn't enjoy the game. I spent much of it in a sort of internal rage at just how slow and lethargic and spineless we looked. I ground my teeth and spat obscenities at the useless referee and the even worse lino on the Cobbold side. They scored a well-worked goal and we never looked capable of getting one back. The highlights of the game were secondary but heart-warming, watching the disabled folks taking penalties at half-time, the keeper a whirlwind of raised arms as he exhorted the SBRL to their biggest cheers of the afternoon.
It all seemed so pointless at the end. Sad, the last actions of a disappointing campaign where we'd looked to be going up for a while. Fans on the train home limped between bile at Lambert and his foibles and vapid, impotent grumbling at Evans and his negligence. It all seemed rather secondary, as though we all knew that the season had ended here, on a train trundling back from the ground, the late afternoon sun and the pastoral scenery lulling us into inertia. Friends said goodbye to each other and "see you for Portsmouth" and they briefly hoped that we'd come good again.
But I'm afraid, like hoping you won't succumb to coronavirus, it's all out of our hands. |  |
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| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 12:36 - Mar 8 with 1232 views | Funge |
These reports are always very good. |  | | |
| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 12:59 - Mar 8 with 1171 views | Westover |
Great read as always, cheers me up after yet another defeat 😠|  | | |
| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 13:01 - Mar 8 with 1170 views | Ace_High1 |
Great as usual, love the description of Tel's reaction at the pub when his missus is honking the car horn to hurry you both up! |  | | |
| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 13:07 - Mar 8 with 1152 views | BanksterDebtSlave |
Brilliant as ever....maybe too much football though! |  |
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| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 13:11 - Mar 8 with 1142 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 13:07 - Mar 8 by BanksterDebtSlave |
Brilliant as ever....maybe too much football though! |
Yeah. I'd have preferably missed out on the football, but it's the one constant, along with Tel, so... | |
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| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 13:30 - Mar 8 with 1113 views | Ftnfwest |
Did he meet up with Paula? |  | | |
| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 14:05 - Mar 8 with 1073 views | strikalite |
Superb..
"call the bleedin midwife"....lol |  | | |
| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 15:01 - Mar 8 with 1030 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 13:30 - Mar 8 by Ftnfwest |
Did he meet up with Paula? |
No. She had something else on so cancelled. | |
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| The Warky League One Report: Coventry (h) on 09:34 - Mar 12 with 744 views | 87mint |
Really enjoyed this mate. Someone sent to me. Massive fan of people who write about football in this way. This was my own sideways take on Saturday. http://bit.ly/Daunted
Good luck for the rest of the season. | | | |
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