| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) 13:52 - Nov 22 with 1020 views | Warkystache |
The house seemed mournful when I returned on Tuesday this week. It wasn't that cold outside but it managed that 'unlived in' feel the moment the key turned and the stale air rushed out to greet me. I set the overnight bag and my laptop case down gingerly on the stairs and went off pottering around, refilling the kettle for a cuppa and looking for the bird food.
Tel's last entreaty on the phone was that I "should'a left me a key 'cos I'd've tidied the place up a bit, like". It was a kind gesture. I do have experience of his form of 'tidying' though. It is reminiscent of being burgled. Stuff you'd always placed in a certain spot moved and (often) never seen again. He is of the 'if in doubt, chuck it" school. The same school where classes include 'If it don't work, 'it it, 'ard" and the ubiquitous "If yer can't see it, it's tidy".
I made a pot of tea, enough for about six people, and, reading the pile of bank statements, gas bills and the 'in sympathy' card sent by kindly but badly informed neighbours, I managed to drink five mugs. The rest stewed until it resembled pond water. I lobbed it down the sink and fished out the five teabags from the plughole and lobbed them in the food recycling. This smelt, so I bagged it up and put it in the green box thing outside in my shed. I sprayed the bin with Domestos anti-bac. The smell protested and then died, leaving a clinical fresh fragrance with hints of rotted veg. I cleaned out the fridge. I had fresh milk, two cans of lager and an unopened block of cheddar when I'd finished. Shopping time.
Tel rang again in the evening. He did the polite formalities about my aunt, then launched into a story of how his friend "'ad the same fing, rushed in by amberlance, flashin' light job. 'E's orlright nah though. 'Ad is surgery, 'as to take asp'rin every day, like, can't do anyfing too excitin', like para-shoot jumps or long sessions wiv the missus. I told 'im to take up wotchin' the Town".
He formally invited me to Chez Tel on Saturday evening. "Ah'm doin' steaks" he said, proudly. "Swiss Farm deliver ter me now, did an order last week, comin' Thursdy. Ah've ordered free fillets, two rib eyes 'cos the wife don' eat 'em and a coupl'a their apple'n'erb sossies. We're doin' proper chips in the fryer plus popcorn cauliflower an' garlic mushrooms. We'll 'ave them negronis an' all, cheer us up a bit. Can you bring..." here he composed a list of drinks and mixers. Martini Rosso, ginger ale for the Moscow Mules, couple of red wines and a sparkling white (don't 'ave ter be champers though).
He rang off. I opened the new red I'd bought and turned down the central heating a notch. I'm currently in the middle of Series One of 'Ozark' on Netflix. It's enthralling, but I do sometimes nod off in the chair during quieter moments. It's very dark. I spluttered awake to find two men engaged in sex on one of the episodes. I thought I'd sat on the remote and had accidentally accessed some hitherto unknown porn channel on Sky.
I worked from home all week and had a decent walk on Friday, the incipient cold riming the fields with frost, the smell of woodsmoke from the odd dwelling making the whole feel Christmassy and medieval. I nipped from my hip flask of brandy during breathers, and watched a muntjac deer skulk away alarmed at my panting approach. Twelve miles I walked. I'm getting fitter. My trousers need tightening on new belt notches. My legs no longer burn like my fags uphill.
Tel rang again at four, quick reminder of Saturday night, and had I got the Martini yet? Only it was on offer in Waitrose. I needed more shopping anyway so went to Waitrose in Sudbury on Saturday morning, even though Colchester is nearer. I don't like the Ipswich one, and Colchester is a nightmare for traffic. Plus the drive to Sudbury is prettier, along the Colne Valley to Stoke-by-Nayland, through to the Sudbury main road and then all country until you hit the Cornard outskirts.
I returned, store-weary and about a hundred-odd quid lighter, at three fifteen. I'd resisted the temptation to switch on BBC Suffolk on the way, because we always lose when I do so. Plus Mick Mills' voice is as soporific as Mogadon and I have trouble enough concentrating when driving. Put the shopping away, switch on the laptop, pour a glass of red, try and find my Ifollow code for the game, swear at the website for a bit, then find it, copy and paste it, do the order for the game and then, like the parting of the vines to reveal the Parthenon, up came the familiar empty stands and green grass of PR. And two teams, one in familiar blue, the other in white, fumbling for the ball and making backwards passes to team-mates. And the score. 0-1. To Shrewsbury. In shock, I nearly closed and rebooted the 'Watch Live' button. Surely not?
The disappointment turned to bafflement, as it appeared we had former Spurs and Pompey star Darren Anderton in midfield for us. Surely he was too old by now? Then Brenner said 'McGavin' and the penny dropped. He gave the ball away and, for a moment, I wondered where Gwion Edwards was. Then I accessed TWTD and read that he was out.
Half-time came and the players trooped off, shoulders slightly slumped, heads down. Ready for that Gorbals b*llocking. Mick Mills said something and I switched off the sound and drank the remnants of my glass in a deep, careless swallow.
We won. We never deserved to. In fact, it was more long-ball than the last knockings of McCarthy. Only with lesser players and no urgency. The subs did OK. Keenans looked like Falcao, running at the Shrews with abandon. Alas, his final ball was dogsh*t. Still, he 'scored' the equaliser with a deep cross from nothing which eluded everyone to nestle, apologetically in the back of the net. Lankester (Note to Mail on Sunday - it's not spelt like the county) stumbled to head the winner. Cheered, I logged off and went for a shower.
The cab arrived at seven. I knew the driver. It was a bloke called Gray. Short for Graham. An East Londoner with a cockney accent you could cut bread with, he'd moved from Limehouse in the 80's to rock up in Bradfield. He owned a Potton mock-tudor place with a big garden and a hot-tub. He was one of Tel's former punters, although I don't think he's all that keen on Terry. He never says anything about it, but his face changes to something a bit guarded whenever you mention Tel's name. He is a teetotaller, which is unusual in these days of non-temperance and lockdown. He drinks full-fat Coke on nights out. He's been out with us before. Doesn't want to risk his licence I suppose?
We chatted inconsequentially on the journey. He dropped me at Tel's and I paid him. He said he'd be back at twelve to collect me and I thanked him and told him to bib me when he was outside. Tel answered the front door before I'd made two feet of his drive. "Was that Gray?" he asked as I entered the threshold. Yes. "Fought so. Funny bloke 'e is. Bit mental. Wun't come for that night out we did back in November last year, though I invited 'im" He pointed his index finger at his temple and twirled it. "Yer knar there's this rumour 'e stabbed a bloke in London? Wot made 'im an' 'is missus move up 'ere. Caught the bloke nickin' from his cab or summink. Never arsked 'im o' course. An ole customer told me".
He took my coat and lobbed it vaguely at the settee in the lounge. We went through to the dining room. Mrs Tel was sat at the table reading "Grazie" and drinking what appeared to be Coca-Cola from a Coke glass, the ice tinkling with every movement towards her mouth. She stood up. She's lost weight. We embraced. Her breasts felt like last week's balloons against my chest.
"How's it goin' love?" she croaked. She'd left her hair uncoloured so the greyish strands peaked through at the roots. She wore a new baby-blue velour top and plain black jeans, Levi's. She kissed my cheek. I smelt Anais Anais and I felt tiny, prickly hairs from her top lip. We chatted, mostly about my aunt and her recent illness. She said she was sorry to hear it. She's never met my aunt, but it was a nice thing to say.
We went for a ciggie. I'd bought forty, just in case. The patio heater was on but moved to the central bit between the two chairs. Tel bought me a beer. He was wearing a chef's apron and carrying what looked like metal pincers. He went back and bought Mrs Tel her drink. She asked him for a top-up and he rolled his eyes. "Vodka'n'diet coke" she smiled at me, as if this was the height of naughtiness.
We went inside after smoking and chatting, and Tel bought me the ingredients for the opening salvo of Negronis. "You c'n mix the first one" he said, generously. "I'm busy wiv the food". I mixed three, strong ones with the maximum of Campari and Gin and the minimum of Martini. I tasted mine first, anxiously, and then, confident, added ice. They were good. Mrs Tel's went down quickly. Eye-openingly quick. Almost a one gulper, despite there being a tumbler full. "Mmmmm' she said, appreciatively. I made more for her and me.
By the fifth, we were giggling in the dining room about my aunt farting in the ambulance. She said her mum had farted when she was dying in the ward at hospital. "Right loud one, din't know where to look, they all heard it. One old girl in the bed opposite had hysterics. Worse fing was, the matron was a right starchy type, so was me dad. They din't see the funny side at all. Me dad kept sayin' 'stop showin' us up'. Couldn't 'elp it. 'Is look made it funnier".
Tel brought the food in with the same look, I suspect, that Mrs Tel's father had in the hospital ward. "Woss funny?" he asked, suspiciously. I started explaining. He laughed, but I noticed he watched his wife with an expression which belied the humour. Interesting though this was, it was brief and he went back to fetch the chips.
We ate the food in merriment and it was delicious. Tel relaxed. I got several more Negronis into him and he became the life and soul once again. We were dancing to eighties hits in their lounge, stumbling over furniture and throwing stranger shapes than those you'd find in Polish animations. By brandy time, I was, metaphorically, up on bricks. The brandy eased down like silk. I checked the time surreptitiously. 11.45pm. I decided to sit down and await the beeps from Gray in his cab.
They came at 12.10pm, just as the music stopped and Mrs Tel had kissed me goodnight. "Should do this more often in Lockdown, we should" she slurred, and then she did a slow waltz with me across their living room. I embraced Tel. He was pissed. He came out to the cab with me. "Orlright Gray, long time no see" he shouted. Gray wound his window down. "Right, tel? 'Ow's the missus?" They conversed, Terry leaning in at the driver's side window. He had to bend down to do so. It looked like he was being sick from the back.
Tel gave Gray a small wad of notes. "Geddim 'ome safe Gray" he said. "Little summink for you as well on top". He smiled at me. See yer soon, matey. We'll ketch up in the pub when all this madness is over". I got in and waved. He waved back, then the cold him him and he walked back up the drive.
"Good night?" asked Gray as we set off. Yeah. Good night. And, though the hangover was a beaut this morning, I don't even regret it. Had I earned a bit of a good night? I like to think so. Like the Town, better late than never.
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| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 14:08 - Nov 22 with 958 views | giant_stow |
Sorry if I shouldn't comment in something so personal, but sounds like you needed that - nice one. |  |
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| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 14:08 - Nov 22 with 958 views | The_Romford_Blue |
Great stuff as per Warky.
If I had a top 10 of TWTD posters, Tel would make the list despite not actually posting on here. Just seems like a lovely fella. Sorry to hear about your aunt too. |  |
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| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 14:22 - Nov 22 with 925 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 14:08 - Nov 22 by giant_stow |
Sorry if I shouldn't comment in something so personal, but sounds like you needed that - nice one. |
Never worry about commenting. It's not that personal. I've just shared it with the excellent folk on here, as I always do!
Thanks for the comment though Ulla - you're right, it was much needed after a difficult few weeks. | |
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| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 14:24 - Nov 22 with 919 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 14:08 - Nov 22 by The_Romford_Blue |
Great stuff as per Warky.
If I had a top 10 of TWTD posters, Tel would make the list despite not actually posting on here. Just seems like a lovely fella. Sorry to hear about your aunt too. |
Don't know about 'Lovely' Rommers, but he's a really good friend. Don't need much more than that really, without marrying, I suppose? | |
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| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 16:33 - Nov 22 with 784 views | StochesStotasBlewe |
Great stuff as always. |  |
| We have no village green, or a shop.
It's very, very quiet.
I can walk to the pub. |
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| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 16:35 - Nov 22 with 776 views | J2BLUE |
Great read as always. Not sure if they are still going to Spain but please don't let them. I need this. |  |
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| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 17:08 - Nov 22 with 724 views | Ace_High1 |
Sounds like a good ole' knees up at el Tel's. |  | | |
| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 19:25 - Nov 22 with 633 views | BanksterDebtSlave |
Lovely job Warky...Miss Slave reckons you didn't really feel the hair on Mrs Tel's top lip but is a little worried now! |  |
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| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 21:38 - Nov 22 with 560 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky League 1 Report: Shrewsbury (H) on 19:25 - Nov 22 by BanksterDebtSlave |
Lovely job Warky...Miss Slave reckons you didn't really feel the hair on Mrs Tel's top lip but is a little worried now! |
Tell her I definitely did, Bankster. Prickly little hairs. They weren't mine. I'd shaved.
I do worry about her and Tel though sometimes. | |
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