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It was wet and grey, a Constable sky with a Turner landscape, the light filtering through the drear, making the colours of the birds on my feeders seem all the sharper, even the Ring Doves with their cotton and raincloud feathers.
A day for relaxation; a good book, a glass of wine and the lamps on in the dining room. A bank holiday, bereft of any need to be busy, to be spent in peace catching up, vegetating, getting pissed on those bottles of white you'd been keeping for the summer. Terry's last day open for the best part of two weeks. I'd have to attend that. Otherwise, it was an easy walk down to Manningtree at 11.30pm, the train, a meet with friends, a few drinks and a bite to eat, possibly a home loss and then home for my slow-cooked lamb with onion sauce. I had it all planned. It all went to b*llocks.
Tel's last day open was a farce. He opened at 7.30am, lights on, shop clean(ish), Easter Eggs two for a fiver but only Kit Kat and Heroes left. Two of the Heroes eggs' resembled Humpty Dumpty after the silly sod had fallen. It was a toss-up which rattled more when shaken; the sweeties in the box or the egg itself. "Half a fiver for this?" I said incredulously. Tel looked shifty. "Well, yeh, but I might make it a quid for regulars, depending on whevver it sells first". He came from the school which said 'it's still chocolate and it'll still go down the same hole; saves 'em having to chew it first". That school is sh*t, worse than Chantry.
He sold me my papers and milk and a pack of four jammie Danish pastries he'd got from the local bakers. Now I've packed the fags in, it's little digs about how much weight I'm putting on. "Ooh, Danish pastries, that's a mistake" he said as he rang them up on the till. "You're sure about these?" as I paid. "Leave one for your lunch tomorrow" as I exited. C*nt.
So the rain continued and my coat got wet as I waited for the train, then walked through Ipswich to the pub. It seemed quieter than a normal matchday; the lack of folk outside PR made me wonder where everyone was. Surely the news about Mick was universally accepted even if not everyone agreed with it?
You all know, or recognise, the pub scene, so I'll move on to the game. As I said earlier, my expectations were zilch. Millwall were on a run. Their fans,never normally shy when it came to braggardy, were confident. We went 1-0 down because we couldn't mark a little bloke. Ironic that, at Easter, we were caught out by a bloke on a cross. The first half continued in the same kick, rush and poor passing style we've got used to. Load of crap and one reason I won't miss Michael Mac when he finally does depart. A part of me wished we'd got rid immediately and let Klug and Nash have a shot. It was that tame.
Then we came out and BLOODY HELL, we were great. Folami came on and was superb. We attacked, we crowded them, we hunted them, we scored two and everyone went mental. WHY THE F*CK COULDN'T YOU HAVE DONE THIS A BIT MORE OFTEN, MICK? We got behind the lads and we were one again, desperate for a winner, holding our breath when Millwall attacked.
We didn't score or concede more at 2-2, and I left the ground on a bit of a high. That was better. Like scratching that itch, or getting it right, the relief was palpable, the pride undimmed. Millwall moaned. Music to the old ears. Bart was genius. Please sign that contract, Big man, you'll be missed if you go.
Happy smiles. Contentment. Me lamb's a bit dry, so I might just have fish and chips instead. Happy BH Monday. The routine back to work suddenly doesn't seem so banal. And the scum got hammered.........
The Warky Report: Millwall (h) on 20:18 - Apr 2 by Warkystache
Yes......
I spoke to Dolly and his mates at half time as well. Think they were up for Warburton. Mind, that was after that dire first half.
I've downarrowed your report as you said you'd include me in it, but then you didn't
Yes, Warburton for us. He's been my fave for a while (not just after today's dire first half). I quite like the sound of Cook too. And Mogga. And maybe Hurst now you mention it.