| The Warky Championship Report 2025/26: Leicester City (A) 10:10 - Dec 14 with 498 views | Warkystache |
I didn't go to Leicester yesterday and I couldn't make Stoke at home on Wednesday. Christmas is to blame. Well, Christmas and my own lack of organisation. But mainly Christmas.
Another day of catching up. Last night's drinks party, tinged with sadness as we learned we'd lost another friend to early middle-age death. RIP Simon. A friend since the early 1990's when life was simpler and University didn't involve imminent bankruptcy or social media posts or technology. Just friendship, half-baked political ideology and the novelty of a chequebook. No money to actually back up its use. But the thought was there.
We're all fifty-two in a twenty-something world. The things I remember aren't really shared memories; catching a train with my student railcard to watch Steve Whitton and co lose at some northern outpost. Joe Bloggs jeans. Sony Walkman cassette players. The curse of the shell suit and designer stuff just starting to grip. Reminiscence is only really worth it if you've been extraordinary. That's why autobiographies from the famed are so popular. Mine would be individualistic but you'd be bored after page one.
"Skiff" (Simon's nickname because he was the only one of us who owned a boat, plus his middle name was Keith. The boat wasn't as grand as you'd think. I went on it once. Once was enough. We 'cruised' the Thames at Richmond, drunk, being sick over the side. The engine went bang after ten minutes. Lot of smoke. We sort of lightly veered about a bit after that. I was never sure he knew how to actually drive the thing) was the type who liked keep fit. Once married with a daughter, long-since divorced, fond of a drink and a smoke every now and then. Condolences to his family. His daughter must be in her twenties now, the age I like to remember him. Back when we were indestructible and skint and lacked all responsibility.
I've done the drink shopping for our imminent Christmas celebrations chez Tel. My father's also invited. He's bringing the wine and a bottle of port. Tel's providing (and cooking) the food and has fifty-odd different lagers stored in his unused second bedroom in mini fridges. We start on Christmas Eve afternoon. We're staying til Boxing Day afternoon. More anon.
Terry is fine. Almost chipper. We met on Friday for drinks and dinner in the pub, which was roast pork with apple sauce and sautéed potatoes with veg. The Indian was already booked up and we didn't fancy spices anyway. My stomach has recently started grumbling a lot, whether in mendacity or just protest, I never know. Better to be safe than sorry, as Tel tried explaining to me as we sipped our San Miguel and watched two of the aged locals attempt to pay for their IPA's by contactless payment and hit everywhere on the card machine except the sweet spot. The staff were patient though.
We discussed Paula. Now living with a bloke she met at her new job somewhere near Harlow. She's pregnant again. Two months apparently. She rang Terry with the news and also to ask if he'd go guarantor on her house rent. I didn't get the gist of why. Tel muttered about having 'ATM' written on his forehead, but he agreed and has paid. "She never menshuned you" he said, slightly woundingly. Fine. I've not seen her for over a year. She's catalogued somewhere in a forgotten drawer in my head. It's fleetingly of interest when she reappears but only fleetingly. My bank balance is only now recovering.
I had a good, long walk before our Christmas meet yesterday. Set off at seven in the morning, mid-light, bowels grumbling and back stiff. It promised a nice day. Saw rabbits race off across the dew-lapped grassy fields and a distant herd of deer and a buzzard circling and gliding towards the heavens. Scant dog walkers to spoil the stroll, with their rustling cagoules and inquisitive furry companions. I made my knees ache. I also felt breathless on the rural slopes, negotiating the mud and the puddles. Back by ten. Shower, shopping in Colchester. Joy.
The pub smelt of heavy roast when I made it at 2pm. Someone had put the Norwich game on. Ignored that. Then they won, and the good-hearted jibes from the Hammers fans who spotted me as they reappeared from the pool room struck hollow. I was hoping Southampton would murder them. Still.
My pint of real ale and the subsequent ones disappeared as the scores came in. Michael Dawson, clearly not a Town fan, called us embarrassingly bad. We never do well at Leicester though. It was almost expected. I left on full-time, before Sky and that scum boy they employ instead of the reliable Jeff Stelling, had shown us the tables.
Never mind. Sheffield Wednesday next week. Tel can make it. We're currying after. Back to normal. If this indeed is normal. Last word to Skiff. He hated football. He was one of my friends who completely disregarded it. I have a few of those from the old days. I remember when we first played Norwich away after promotion in 1992/93, around Christmas, and he came with me to the pub in Putney to watch it. Mainly because he knew a bloke in Putney who sold hashish and his dad had recently sent him fifty quid in the post. Yes, they were simpler days.
The game started and we settled in a corner, drinks in hand. The questions started from the off. Who were we? (Skiff's family home was in Evesham. He'd never heard of Ipswich, even after meeting me and us becoming mates). These diversified as the game went on. Who was that little dark-haired bloke in the middle? Micky Stockwell. Is he allowed to play football? He's about five foot two. What's the point in that?
Anyway, we won 2-0 against the odds and I was happy. That was the last game of football Skiff ever watched. Even when we met up last year, he asked me how Micky Stockwell was playing. I don't think he ever got it. Still, good memories are left. His funeral is on the sixth of January. That'll be a few more tears shed. RIP matey.
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| The Warky Championship Report 2025/26: Leicester City (A) on 11:19 - Dec 14 with 419 views | BanksterDebtSlave |
Condolences Warky.
The football lite reports are definitely the best these days. |  |
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| The Warky Championship Report 2025/26: Leicester City (A) on 11:37 - Dec 14 with 404 views | Benters |
That pub you were in the oldies were trying to pay with the IPA on card was The Crown at Manningtree ? I don’t mind it in there in the summer months.Sitting in the garden it has a interesting view across the water.
I’m crap at using those machines as well.
Sorry to hear of your mate passing ba. [Post edited 14 Dec 2025 12:59]
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