| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Lincoln City (A) 12:34 - Oct 25 with 834 views | Warkystache |
Wet and windy. And that's just my toilet habits. It's been a frustrating week.
I met Terry on Tuesday in the pub for lunch. Working from home is becoming the new excuse for not doing much. We'd arranged it purely for the chance to catch up, but he had ulterior motives of his own. Mostly Mrs Tel and her new-found passion for online exercise classes. "She's like bleedin' Jane Fonda" he moaned as the second pint was ordered from the masked bar steward. "S'like every bad keep fit video ever released by some fat celebri'ee, on and on, like an 'Amster on a wheel". The pints arrived, and he sipped the top of his, face articulated by despondency.
He's purchased a cross-trainer at her request; ordered online from Argos for a few hundred quid. He showed me a picture on his phone, a sort of gleaming white and grey plastic thing with two foot plates built in and moveable arms. It looked like something Doc Brown would build for time travel, a sort of upright exercise bike without pedals that you stand on and pretend to walk up the side of a mountain on, using the arms as ski sticks. It reminded me of a picture I once saw in a book about medieval torture implements. Only they weren't plastic.
"Its goin' in our bedroom n'all" he said, as though this was a done deal. "Won' get much kip. Or anyfing else. Not that I'm getting' much'o'that anyway". He studied the menu on the table and verbally weighed up the chicken club sandwich and chips or the chilli beef nachos with guacamole and cheese. I went for the caesar chicken salad with croutons and bacon. He snickered at this. "On a diet are we?". I shook my head. "Nah, didn't fink so. You should get a cross-bleedin' trainer". 'I'll nip round and use yours' I said. "No chance. She'll be on it mornin' ter night. It'll be the most activity our bedroom's seen in donkeys".
We ate, discussing life in between mouthfuls, him having a pop at Tony, his brother-in-law, who has just started work on an office conversion in Southend. "Din't 'ave anyfing for me, did 'e?" said Tel with a shrug. Tony is staying up at a Travelodge nearby, to be on hand if anything needs doing. "Well, thass 'is excuse anyway. Prob'ly got a bird on the go up there. Wouldn't be the first time". He smiled a conspiratorial smile at me. "You int 'eard that from me by the way".
We did a half-hearted bet on the Tuesday football scores. I say half-hearted because we now have over four grand in the joint account, a result of a few horse tips Tel had from an ex-customer in the days when he had the shop, and who he now sees regularly in Asda, buying his paper and his slim panatellas. "The bloke's dynamite" said Tel once to me, in the days when picking a horse winner became like winning the Nobel Prize for Chemistry. However, the tips aren't that frequent, and Tel is loth to back anything without a tip these days. Hence his half-heartedness.
"Doncaster'll beat Town" he said, gleefully taking the 7/4 odds for a home win. I must've protested, because we then had a bit of banter about the draw, which was 11/5. "Won't be a draw" maintained Tel with a certainty that grated. In the end, I was grateful he was so sure. It wasn't a draw. Or any points at all, come to that.
The rest of the week splashed by on the breeze, me working, me not working as much, me watching the birds huddled like pensioners at a bus stop on the bird table, disconsolately pecking the bacon rinds and cups of seed I shoved out there, slowly flapping between table and feeders like children at a buffet. I've got a pair of goldfinches who brighten the diorama a bit. Makes a change from the usual mob of starlings and blackbirds and robins and blue tits. Not that they hang around long.
I'd arranged to meet friends on Friday night in Colchester, so missed the Friday curry. Tel didn't bother in the end. The cross-trainer hadn't arrived when I rang him on Thursday to say I couldn't make it. He took the news with suitable dignity and didn't try the usual crack of "You've got friends then?" or something in that vein. He couldn't make yesterday as he and Mrs Tel were off for a day in Cambridge, shopping and "'avin' a look rarnd, not that much'll be open prob'ly". They were having a meal somewhere in the city. "Italian" said Tel, as if this was a new and perplexing concept. "Pasta'n'that" he added, as if I too didn't know what 'Italian' meant.
I had a walk, despite the spitting showers and forbidding skies. Saturday morning, 10am, clocks due to go back that night, the hedgerows shiny with wet, the paths a miasma of mud and puddles and churn. I walked past Lawford Church and round and into Manningtree and then home, calves on fire and knees cracking. I stopped in a pub in Manningtree for a pint, sat alone and becalmed at a table, the fire roaring in the grate and the smell of woodsmoke mingling with the scent of beer slops and polish. The lights were low so the inside was darkened by the gloom outside. The rain speckled the windows and then came harder, bouncing off the sills and the ground, making me pleased I'd stopped and wasn't walking in it. I had another pint and then a glass of wine. It eased and stopped. I went.
I was home by three. I put Soccer Saturday on. No news about Ipswich. I was dreading a Lincoln goal, but nothing came. They read the half-times while I was making a cuppa. I never drank it. I made it and then went and did some housework and forgot about it. It was cold when I remembered. Just as I was resigned to a decent-ish 0-0 at Lincoln, they announced a penalty there. Of course it wasn't ours. 1-0. Switch off. Back to making my bed.
I din't bother with anything fancy last night. I got nicely cut on red wine and brandy. I had cheese on toast with worcester sauce. Nice bit of cheddar. I've just got back from shopping at Tesco as my cupboards were barer than a page in a cheap w*nk mag. It's nearly pay day so I've been ekeing out my reserves in the bank with a stringency not normally seen. It's been an expensive month, yet I've got nowt to show for it besides a few thumbed paperbacks and a rattling drinks cupboard.
C'est la vie, as Robbie Nevill sang in the eighties, back when cross-trainers were de rigeur as were shellsuits, Thatcher and yuppies. All were consigned to the metaphorical bin. I hope Tel's got plenty of room in his wardrobe for his wife's peccadillos. I bet he'd say he hadn't. He'd probably think peccadillos were spanish sandals.
Another three points would be nice, Paul. Please. |  |
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| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Lincoln City (A) on 18:29 - Oct 25 with 661 views | Blueastheycome |
Last weeks edition actually inspired me to go on a hungover ramble from Dunwich to Walberswick and back today. It perked me up for abit granted but by the end I was horrendously lagging and sympathised fully with Tel! |  | | |
| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Lincoln City (A) on 21:41 - Oct 25 with 566 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Lincoln City (A) on 18:29 - Oct 25 by Blueastheycome |
Last weeks edition actually inspired me to go on a hungover ramble from Dunwich to Walberswick and back today. It perked me up for abit granted but by the end I was horrendously lagging and sympathised fully with Tel! |
Nice one. Haven't been to Dunwich for ages, mostly because I quite like Orford and Aldeburgh. I once saw a ghost in Dunwich. Strange thing. I'd been on the beach near the cafe and walked back to my car in the dusk and something appeared in a field near where I'd parked. Must be fifteen years ago. I still remember it. | |
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