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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) 13:00 - Aug 8 with 1160 viewsWarkystache

The rain splattered against my bedroom window. 7am on the first Saturday of a new season and it already felt like October. I surveyed the wreckage of the previous night; home at 2am alone, another nightcap which I could still taste, fleetingly, like a dream only slightly remembered.

My puffy, sleep-deprived face stared back at me in the mirror as I brushed the teeth. The McCleans toothpaste smeared around my lips like Aussie fielders on a hot day at the Gabba. BBC Radio Suffolk jabbered on from the digital radio in my bedroom. Someone said "It's a new season at Portman Road" and then crowd noise and blurb of Brenner Woolley celebrating a goal in a forgotten, long-ago season when we were allowed to watch unhindered by face masks or double vaccinations.

The morning walk was conducted wrapped like a Durex, every step a swishing, splashing swoomp around countryside in full leafy glory. No dog walkers except for one brave soul who wore a soaked tracksuit top and dripping bottoms and trudged through the puddles with that grim determined look that says 'the dog needed a walk and it's getting one'. His dog, a collie, was all goofy pleasure and wet fur. He nosed my genitals with a sly stop as the owner trudged on, then ran to catch up with a fleeting backward glance at me as he went. As sexual relations go, this was the equivalent of a quick hand job behind a skip followed by a slipped tenner into the clean hand.

Tel was in good spirits on Friday night; fortunately not in quite as good spirits as the collie, but he seemed more cheerful than of late. The Indian was packed but we'd reserved the table furthest from the madding crowd and their polite chat between sips of lager and fork hitting china plates to scoop up the Basmati. Farooq the waiter took our order and came back shortly with two pints of Kingfisher on a slate tray with two neatly folded napkins and our cutlery and a bowl of fresh poppadoms. He left us briefly to return for the silver server filled with chopped onions. mango chutney, mint sauce and the lime pickle that always puts me in mind of tarmac for some reason. The poppadoms were cracked apart and, amid crumbs, dipped into the condiments with gay abandon.

"Bleedin' Braintree this weekend" said Tel in a murmured growl. This was meant to be his holiday in Portugal. He was due to fly on the Sunday. They cancelled due to Covid and are instead having days out with the in-laws, with North Norfolk on the menu along with Aldeburgh and Southwold. "Decent beer at least" said Tel. "Sandy's doin' the drivin' so me and Tone can 'ave a few in the locals. Finkin' o' tryin' tha' Sole Bay inn for lunch, like". He rubbed his hands briskly and beamed. "Should be free sheets by 'ometime, us. Tone luvs a pint or free. 'E'll be fun on this'un". Our starters arrived. He broke off to pick at his chicken tandoori with his fork. "Seen more bleedin' meat on our local blue tits" was his response. But he still finished it.

By the time we'd eaten the chicken vindaloo and the king prawn jalfrezi and then the bombay potato and the keema naans, and drunk our fill of the Kingfisher (five pints apiece) and been lightened of thirty quid each (we went dutch. It was easier than paying one bill of sixty five quid and we both presented our debit cards with a bonhomie we both felt), we were walking shakily to the local where we'd agreed to meet Mrs Tel at eleven to seriously hammer their brandy bottle and part with more money. By the time Mrs Tel had arrived, been met by me in the car park and encouraged in for a diet Coke with ice, we were pissed. Tel did the footy bet with me. Two lines each, him commenting disparagingly about the quality of the EFL and doing wins for Blackburn, Luton, Stoke, Newport and Rotherham, all of which came good to win us another three hundred notes and take our combined bet total to over £2500. Muggins here didn't contribute. The Town let me down. So did Preston.

I agreed to come home with the Terry's for a nightcap. Why I did that, gawd knows as Tel would probably say when he eventually awoke the next morning. Mrs Tel enticed me. She said sweetly "Yer aint bin rand ours for a while, come back wiv us an' 'ave a drink". So I did. We cracked a bottle of the decent brandy and drank the lot. I burbled like a fat frog and laughed as Tel did his impression of Michael Barrymore on 'Strike it Lucky' with the rations he poured. "Alwight?" he said as he poured half a tumblerful. I sank it with a smile. "Bleedin' 'ell mate, it aint Lemonade yer heavven!". Then he sank a larger one in a swallow, the look of brief distaste adding to the general hilarity. Mrs Tel and I cheering like Paul Cook had just made an entrance. Although she wouldn't know who Paul Cook was.

I was driven home by a sober, clean smelling Mrs Tel. On her own as Tel had collapsed like an England middle order and was dozing at the dining room table, muttering about 'shoulda gone wiv yer ter Morecambe termorro, still....". She wore her Blondie T-shirt and black Levis and smelled of Thierry Mugler. I felt a strange yearning. One that nearly wrecked me on the rocks when I heard myself mumbling to her about 'coming in for a coffee'. Nearly. Oh so nearly. But it was 2am and she was tired. So I said thanks for the lift home and brushed her cheek with my lips and staggered to the front door and she waited in the car and then, as the door succumbed to the key, she bibbed lightly and was off. And my thoughts changed from illicit sexual cravings with my friend's missus to another drink.

Saturday. Bacon sandwiches with loads of HP at eight. Coffee, black, scalding, redemptive. Birds on the replenished feeders squabbling. The rainclouds darkening the kitchen. Time for a shower and a clean set of clothing. Then a walk to Manningtree station for the train into Town.

The rain left bright diamonds on the roads as I walked. It cooled and dampened my ardour for a good game and a few pints in the boozer beforehand. My hangover crept and squalled in my bowels and my head. A few pints was necessary. Nothing to eat. Mustn't eat.

I knew it'd be a packed game before I'd even reached Ipswich. The shirts at the Station Buffet in Ipswich, on the train, at Ipswich station all told me this would be over 20k attendance. The pub was packed by 12pm and I found my mates at seats watching the lunchtime kick off with all the interest of one 'watching' crown green bowls. Pints were consumed, then vodkas, then we were off. The lines outside the SBR were long and snaked around like a Boa on a tree trunk in some exotic clime. The crowd was expectant inside. I voiced the songs gingerly at first and then forgot about the poxy virus and sang deep.

The homecoming at five seemed an anti-climax. The game was good, just error-ridden and a bit stand-offish from our point of view. Still, it'll come. Woolfenden was the biggest villain of the day and people on the train grumbled about his indecisiveness and hoped we were in for another competent defender besides Edmundson, who they hadn't actually seen play yet but whose precedence was reassuring. Fraser got a good press, as did Evans and Harper and, to a lesser degree, KVY. No-one mentioned Penney. I thought he played well as it went.

And that was that. Home came the hunter. Tel in Braintree. A chinese takeaway in front of the Sheffield United game and an earlier night, haunted by the brandy bottle and a sense that something, somewhere was unsatisfied. I think it was the performance. But it might just have been the unease about my previous night with Mrs Tel in the car. Oh God. What did I do? What could I have done? It was that embarrassment I'd not felt since I inadvertently wet myself at primary school all those years ago.

Tel's coming with me to the AFC Wimbledon game. At least he said he would. Mind you, he was pissed.

Poll: If we were guaranteed promotion next season, how would you celebrate?
Blog: [Blog] It's Time the Club Pushed On

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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 13:25 - Aug 8 with 1047 viewsThe_Romford_Blue

As brilliant as always Warky. The subplots in the background for these are quite something

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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 13:43 - Aug 8 with 1006 viewsWarkystache

The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 13:25 - Aug 8 by The_Romford_Blue

As brilliant as always Warky. The subplots in the background for these are quite something


Thanks Rommers. Were you there yesterday?

Poll: If we were guaranteed promotion next season, how would you celebrate?
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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 13:49 - Aug 8 with 991 viewsgiant_stow

Blimey, that's the first time (i've seen) when you've confirmed what you've long hinted about re tel's mrs! Dam broken?

I'm worried now - sorry, not my place - don't ruin it with Tel mr!

Cracking yarn as ever.

Has anyone ever looked at their own postings for last day or so? Oh my... so sorry. Was Ullaa
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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 13:52 - Aug 8 with 974 viewsDebsyAngel

A great read! Mine was a lot less dramatic it has to be said!
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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 13:57 - Aug 8 with 958 viewsThe_Romford_Blue

The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 13:43 - Aug 8 by Warkystache

Thanks Rommers. Were you there yesterday?


I was. Bonnes goal was a nice moment. Looked like it really meant a lot to him.

Burton away next week. An away day at long last after many many months without.

Poll: Would we sell out our allocation for Wembley for a PJ Trophy final?

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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 14:00 - Aug 8 with 945 viewsWarkystache

The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 13:52 - Aug 8 by DebsyAngel

A great read! Mine was a lot less dramatic it has to be said!


I'll say hello to you at a future game (No Mrs Tel shenanigans guaranteed!)

Poll: If we were guaranteed promotion next season, how would you celebrate?
Blog: [Blog] It's Time the Club Pushed On

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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 14:04 - Aug 8 with 937 viewsWarkystache

The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 13:49 - Aug 8 by giant_stow

Blimey, that's the first time (i've seen) when you've confirmed what you've long hinted about re tel's mrs! Dam broken?

I'm worried now - sorry, not my place - don't ruin it with Tel mr!

Cracking yarn as ever.


Yeah. I think 'embarrassment' doesn't do it justice. I don't think it'll be repeated. Hope not. Please.

Poll: If we were guaranteed promotion next season, how would you celebrate?
Blog: [Blog] It's Time the Club Pushed On

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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 14:08 - Aug 8 with 919 viewsFtnfwest

Excellent stuff as usual, but mate, run like hell!
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The Warky Report: Morecambe (H) on 14:21 - Aug 8 with 873 viewsEwan_Oozami

A tenner? Obviously been a long time then....

Just one small problem; sell their houses to who, Ben? Fcking Aquaman?
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