| The Warky Lg 1 Report: No gold pavements, tired starlings (H) 13:46 - Aug 9 with 1014 views | Warkystache |
A cloudy morning, the heat whispering offstage. Birdbaths scrubbed of detritus; bird sh*t and plucked feathers laying ragged and drowned in the stagnating water. A brace of sparrows inspect the repast on the table. No cheeky robins, who have previous for nibbling my Weetabix from an unattended bowl on the rare occasions I've eaten breakfast on the patio. I slop fresh water into the baths like a prisoner rinsing his gazunder.
Tiresome is work. A week of travel in an air-conditioned box, operating the pedals and the clutch with automaton skill, head full of what I'd be doing on a nice day like this without the incipient need to be doing 70 on the A14. The radio chatters, all home counties-schooled voices and the occasional decent song (on Wednesday it was 'Eight Miles High' by The Byrds, but the signal faded as I reached Huntingdon, so we only managed six). I stopped at Kettering for a Maccy's breakfast, all cardboard mcmuffins filled with grease and oddly peppered meat patty. The coffee was 'blow on and hope' scalding. The hash brown had probably been fried by the same meteor that killed the dinosaurs.
'Yer can ate in noe' said the friendly liveried woman who served me once I'd run the gamut of the big computerised ordering system. "Ers Cheaperfer you'. Kettering is strange; it has no discernible accent and, therefore, no proper identity. It has a limited town. They speak like Brummies attempting Sufferk and coming out with odd West Country twangs that TV programmes meant to be set in Suffolk end up with. I ate in. She was right. Two pounds 69 pence. She even lobbed in a little bottle of Tropicana smooth that I don't recall being charged for.
Birmingham was listless in the heat. The only cheery souls were the Villa and Coventry fans. The Birmingham fans were quiet, as was I. The Villa fans dreamed of keeping Grealish and buying Brooks and Wilson and Buendia. The Coventry fans asked about Jackson much like one would ask if that rash was genuinely scabies or just the heat. I don't think it's a goer, that deal. They were as unconvinced as I'd have been if Lambert fancied improving our striker issue by chasing Frank Nouble. "Every toime oi've seen 'im, 'e's been pony" said one unimpressed Cov regular. They'd much rather believe the local rag who has linked them to Aden Flint and Kenneth Zohore on loan.
Life in aspic. That was the job. Nearly everyone's returned from imposed exile. We shared familiar stories of laptops not working and setting them up in the front room and then having to draw the curtains to see the screen, and naps at two, and tea breaks so regular they made most builders look proactive. Hugs and contact were, by necessity, limited. Instead we went for lunch en masse on Monday, surprising the boozer just off Broad Street, but they had room for thirty-odd folks.
By Thursday, I was starting to flag a bit, the combination of five-thirty am alarm calls and home at 7pm kicking in. I heard from Tel; a brief call at 7.30pm just before the Championship play-off final on Tuesday. "Jus' ter let yer know I'll be able to make the Indian on Sat'dee, book it fer 7.30 if yer can an' we can 'ave a drink or two before it". He rang off by saying he'd had £100 on Fulham. I raised my eyebrows, metaphorically, down the line. "Nah, def'nitly Fullum" he reassured me. "Better team an' Brentford have wet the bed recently, like".
So it was a triumphant Tel who met me in the socially-distanced Indian last night. Before that, the working week ended and I had a few 'celebratory' drinks on Friday evening with friends in Colchester. I was meant to be out with them last night but two cancelled, so we all decided to meet on Friday instead. The taxi home was the biggest expense. Pints at one-sixty nine a go, single malts at three quid a double (alright it was Glenfiddich, but still....) meant a merry, if rather chaotic night. I tried sleeping in on Saturday morning but found myself awake and nursing a minor hangover at 7am. So I got up and had a shower and did the bird baths and the bird food and nipped to Tesco at 8am for a paper and some more fags and a three-pinter of Cravendale semi-skimmed and a small jar of Marmite and some bread for breakfast.
I had a walk at one. I did the Essex Way from Mistley as far as Wrabness, then stopped on the fore shore for a bottle of warmish water and a fag. The dripping sweat and the flies tormented me, so I didn't hang around long. Back by four, another cool shower and watched 'The Joker' in my pants with all the doors open. marvelling at whether I liked the film or not. I decided on fence-sitting. It's alright.
Tel was early, a sign of his keeness to discuss our betting fortunes. He'd had everything he won on Fulham on Man City to beat Real the previous night. "On fire, I am" he nodded with a supercilious grin. He'd have done Bayern to beat Chelsea but the odds weren't great. I suggested he do Chelsea to score at anytime and he looked at me like I'd suggested having a grand on Ipswich to win League One. "B'ayve yerself" he nodded, unconvinced.
"The wife's fine, like" was his update on last week when I asked. "Goin' ter Norwich shoppin' wiv Sandy and her niece and two o' their mates termorra. Probly spend a fortune on more tat". He let the matter slide. The poppadoms had just arrived with the onion and chutneys.
We drank Kingfisher on draught. Tel, in a concession to the heat and the food, asked for 'a drop o' lime in mine please', which is unheard of. 'Sometimes 'ave a lager'n'lime in Spain; they 'ave fresh limes they squeeze in it there. Nuffink better when yer firsty an' 'ot". He glared at me, daring me to make some crack about 'my mum drank that in the eighties' or something. 'My mum...." I started, but then he talked about his job and the subject was dropped.
His job is still going, still contracted to the end of September. With Spain being beyond reasonable access, he's happy to continue, although he did grumble a bit about the employee searches at the end of shifts and the staff canteen area, which he reckoned was 'filthy'. He told an amusing but xenophobic story about one of the Lithuanian staff putting Tampax in the cleaning products aisle ('Should be able ter read bleedin' English by now, 'e's been 'ere six years") but, that aside, he restricted his conversation to alternately praising himself for his betting prowess and berating Sainsbury's for their cleanliness and employee-relations.
He paid and we left at 10pm, headed for the pub, my guts burbling and bubbling at the influx of chicken vindaloo and too much beer. Tel doesn't like the pub brandy since they switched, so we settled for Southern Comfort and ice. We amused ourselves with gutter chat until 11.30pm when our Taxi arrived. The driver, a bloke in his late fifties, was more fun than the usual ones we get and told us lurid stories of once being the driver for a well-known (household name is stretching it but he's a regular on telly) comedian, and saying what a prick he was in real life. I'd tell you the name but I'm not sure Phil'd be happy. Would it come as a surprise? Well, only if you've heard of him......
My starlings refused to jump on the bird table this morning and I'd given them bacon rinds as well. Lazy bastards. |  |
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| I'll on 13:59 - Aug 9 with 959 views | factual_blue |
sleep in this place with the lonely crowd, lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves. |  |
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| I'll on 14:02 - Aug 9 with 948 views | Warkystache |
| I'll on 13:59 - Aug 9 by factual_blue |
sleep in this place with the lonely crowd, lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves. |
I'll try and catch you out one of these days!! My fault for choosing such a well-known song!! | |
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| I'll on 15:05 - Aug 9 with 890 views | factual_blue |
| I'll on 14:02 - Aug 9 by Warkystache |
I'll try and catch you out one of these days!! My fault for choosing such a well-known song!! |
Sorrows lollipop lands stick-broken on a dark carnival ground. | |
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