| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) 13:41 - Sep 22 with 1132 views | Warkystache |
In a week of bright, cloud-skudded days and relentless work journeys, the oasis was the footie. It makes a pleasant change to look at the league table these days. It doesn't make it much more pleasurable to stick the radio on and hear Mick Mills' droning, proselytizing filler as another game ends with us 'holding on', but you can never have everything at Ipswich. It's been decreed. Like another sod's law.
So we leapt from the disappointment of Donnie to the wet blanket of a working week, via sporadic texts from Spain which made no sense but meant everything. Monday was a blank, admittedly, filled with dreary meetings and replies to pointless, word-vacuous emails from managers and the type of staff who glide with them, like pilot fish around a flabby toothless shark, hoping that their lickspittle union will eventually bear a bit of the rotten carcass. In a tie-less work society, they still cling to the fifty inches of brown polyester knotted around the creaseless folds in their Peter Storm shirts.
Tuesday's gem was a 7.30am text. "Thyve run out of bloddy pan cakes at the buffit" it said, the tone shot with tangible disappointment and outrage. It was the sole contribution until I was driving home, when he called on my mobile. It went to speaker, causing me to be pleased I hadn't offered anyone a lift. "Iss Terry" growled a barely -recognised voice, as though talking through the spout end of a half-full watering can. Hi I replied, how's Marbella? "Eh?" he said, and there was a pause of ten seconds, which seemed a lifetime. "Yer still there?" he asked, anxiously. Then I heard a few mumbles. "Dunno wass wrong wiv this bleedin' fing, can't 'ear meself let alone any ovver sod.....'Ello? (said louder, and causing his voice to echo around the car). I'm still here, I said. "Oh...thass better, c'n 'ear yer now". He launched into a brief account of water skiing (never agin, though ah quite enjoyed it, the inside of me legs ached like gawd knars this mornin'. I'd've been a rubbish shag, even if the wife was up fer it, which she aint been, not wiv all 'er problems recently, like) and then we got to the 'Great Pancake Debacle at the Breakfast Buffet' (Ah sed to the wait'a, 'ere June, wass all this wiv the pan cakes? He's called June by the way. Silly name fer a bloke, tha'. So they made me me own special, like).
He wittered on, encompassing diverse topics including the wife and him trying to buy Nurofen, his companionship with Dave and how he'll miss him when he goes home on Thursday, the wife saying Lynne told her that she thought Terry was 'stressed out and needs to relax more' and the football bet, which he'd only done for Saturday as he forgot it was Champions League week. "So 'ave a little bit on, but do Chelsea and Liverpool to lose, 'cos Dave reckons ol' Fat Frank'll play the reserves. We're watchin' it in the bar tonight". He signed off with a small brag about having lobster for Lynne and Dave's last meal on Wednesday. "Pickin' it meself out the tank" he said proudly, as if it was the de rigeur upper-middle class thing to do and he'd 'arrived'. He hung up, leaving me thankful for the sudden loss of earache.
I could've gone to Milton Keynes. I was in Birmingham on Tuesday, and it's on the way home. My first away game of the season. But I hawwed and hummed as I always do, and the chance was gone. I drove home missing MK entirely, just in case I got tempted. I watched the Chelsea game on BT Sports instead, at home, eating a home-prepared lamb tagine on my lap, the couscous falling off the fork and disappearing in the cracks of my settee. I hopped between that and the Live scores on Sky, the expected avalanche of goals to follow Nolan's opener never happening. Still, we held on, as Mick Mills said later as I switched the telly off and caught the remnants of BBC Suffolk. His voice was a powerful aide to sleep. I listened until the programme ended and some old duffer came on playing 'Africa' by Toto, soothing the nerves of murderous truck drivers from Swaffham and late-shift nurses in the James Paget.
I didn't hear again from Tel until Friday evening, when he rang to check on my health and also to anxiously confirm I'd be at Stansted Airport at 4pm on Saturday. I was missing my home county play in the 20-20 cricket finals for this. I could have had a ticket for it. There was a spare going at my office in Birmingham on Thursday. True, I'd be sat with several Nottinghamshire supporters. But it seemed a small price to pay for £45. But again, I was true to my word and went to pick up the Terry's from the airport.
Saturday dawned warm and bright. I sat in the garden, drinkless again following a dry Friday night spent washing shirts and towels and watching Southampton V Bournemouth sipping nowt stronger than a Sprite Zero. I even forbode myself a takeaway, settling for the last of the fridge contents in an omelette with chips and an apple and a big hunk of extra-mature cheddar for pud. It was joyless but simple. It tasted better than some of the takeaways I've sampled as well.
The birds have been eating like locusts lately. My feeders, filled before the dawn breaks on another journey to work, were empty and rattled like spare gibbets in the gentle breeze. I refilled them and they came, plipping on the rose trellis, floating onto the feeders and the table, munching with an eye cocked suspiciously towards me, sat in my dressing gown sipping hot coffee from a mug. The morning smelt warm and inviting, a last day of a dying summer. I needed shopping, so went to the 24 hour Tesco at 7.30am, filling a wheeled trolley with requisites for the week, stopping in the booze aisle to eye the ciders and the brandies with more than a proprietary air.
I had a walk at ten. I drove to Bures and walked the circuit around Henney and Laymarsh, the birds whistling overhead, the day unclouded and fine. I nearly stopped at a pub, but reasoned even one pint would become three and I'd promised Tel I'd be there at four. So I walked on, and back, and got home at one to watch the cricket. I compensated myself for the loss of alcohol by having a piece of cheese instead. Mountain Gorgonzola from my local deli. The flavours were beautifully enhanced by a pear.
Left home just as the Town were coming out at Priestfield. The drive along the A120/A12 through Marks Tey was filled with traffic and azure skies. Colchester were clearly at home, judging by the cars parked outside their new stadium on the A12. It looked soulless. These new stadia always are.
I arrived at Stansted and texted Tel, then waited ten minutes for a reply. "B there by 4.45" he said, omitting the gate number. I parked and paid a tenner for the pleasure (a tenner! Who do they think they are, NCP at the Buttermarket?) and walked into the terminal, lacking only a big cardboard message with 'TERRY' on it in red felt tip. I had a coffee (a fiver! For a little cup of coffee!!) and then debated taking another mortgage out for a sandwich and an egg custard tart to have with it.
They arrived. We met in the foyer, Tel in his familiar uniform of Oakleys, YSL blue-checked shirt and pressed Levi's, Mrs Tel resplendent in black velour tracksuit with sandals and a pink cotton t-shirt underneath. "'Ave yer parked nearby?" said Tel. Yes, I said. "Was it eggspensiff?" he smiled. Yes, I said, slightly less enthusiastically. "I knarr" he chortled. "Tone reckoned they wore masks and 'ad pistols when 'e paid 'em". He tried to give me twenty quid, but I said no, so he slipped it back in his pocket, looking a bit more cheerful still. He loves a result.
I drove them home, Tel in front with me, Mrs Tel with the hand luggage in the back. "Yew in't got much boot room in this ole banger" said Tel as we loaded in his cases. He found Five Live on my radio and was chortling at Spurs losing and Watford getting done 8-0. "How'd the Town do?" he asked. "Dunno" I said. He looked disappointed. We couldn't get BBC Suffolk, so we turned it off. "Ah did Leicester ter beat Spurs" he said, contentedly. "An' I did Sheffield United to beat Everton". He smiled and relaxed, closing his eyes in the passenger seat, leaving me to talk about Dave'n'Lynne with his wife from the back seat.
I drove them home. They disembarked and took their luggage out, making me promise to drop the car at home and then come back for a takeaway and drinks with them at eight. I duly dropped the car at home and Tel picked me up in his at 7.45. We got the Indian and a load of beers and cider and came back to his. Mrs Tel looked sleepy. She drank a few glasses of prosecco and ate a miniscule bit of curry and then excused herself and went to bed to watch Strictly. We ate and drank and laughed at his Marbella tales. Dave invited him to a game at Stamford Bridge, although "not Sundy, tomorrow, like, even 'e carnt magic up tickets fer Liv'pool at 'ome".
Town won 1-0. We looked it up on Sky Sports. "Great news" said Tel. Then he looked at me and reached down for a white plastic bag he'd left next to his chair. "A pressie from Spain" he said, simply. I undid the bag. A bottle of XS Napoleon brandy. A bottle of Crystal Head vodka. A bottle of Casamigos Anejo Tequila. I spluttered my thanks and he smiled. "I fancy a brandy after all that grub" he announced. So we cracked the XS. "Only 1-0" mulled Tel over his brandy. "Think I'd better come to the Tranmere game, after all".
And I was glad he was back.
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| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 13:52 - Sep 22 with 1089 views | Ftnfwest |
V good. Have they 7-11d his old shop yet? |  | | |
| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 14:50 - Sep 22 with 1011 views | Colin_Viljoen |
| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 13:52 - Sep 22 by Ftnfwest |
V good. Have they 7-11d his old shop yet? |
Read last week, it's a coffee shop! |  | | |
| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 15:39 - Sep 22 with 960 views | Ftnfwest |
| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 14:50 - Sep 22 by Colin_Viljoen |
Read last week, it's a coffee shop! |
Oh dear. Think we need a field trip down there to bring it down a bit! | | | |
| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 15:46 - Sep 22 with 947 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 15:39 - Sep 22 by Ftnfwest |
Oh dear. Think we need a field trip down there to bring it down a bit! |
It's a nice coffee shop though! Cheaper than Stansted Airport as well.......... | |
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| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 15:52 - Sep 22 with 935 views | Ftnfwest |
| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 15:46 - Sep 22 by Warkystache |
It's a nice coffee shop though! Cheaper than Stansted Airport as well.......... |
and it can’t be as badly organised either. Flew to Portugal from there in August and it was a bundle for everything. So Essex it’s got a spoons as well! | | | |
| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 16:24 - Sep 22 with 896 views | Colin_Viljoen |
| The Warky League One Report: MK Dons and Gillingham (a) on 15:52 - Sep 22 by Ftnfwest |
and it can’t be as badly organised either. Flew to Portugal from there in August and it was a bundle for everything. So Essex it’s got a spoons as well! |
Hardly surprising as it's in Essex | | | |
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