Somebody somewhere is taking the fucking piss out of me this season. For about the third time in a month a game got called off, and needless to say, I am not a happy bunny. The fact that (a) most of Britain was sunny, and (b) even Hull – a mere 10 miles away – was “habitable” rubs lo-sodium substitute into the wounds. Bah.
I know it’s self indulgent to write a brief summary of what happened: however, it’s so unbelievable that it could well be, the ultimate Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction. And the simple fact is, I need to let off steam. Here’s my story…..
Woke up at 6am after I forgot to set my alarm clock. Because I was forcing myself awake at various times during the night, I got a grand total of about 2 hours sleep. Not a good start. Left my house at 6.32am because the Northern Line between Morden and Tooting Broadway is buggered. Drove to Balham.
Things were going well until I reached the traffic lights of Balham Station Road and Bedford Hill. My filter turns green, and naturally I pull out. Some total cunt coming the other way decides to jump the red light at 50mph (no, you read that right) and somehow misses me by about 2 inches. Had he hit, I would have been in intensive care in St Georges by now.
Park up (this bit becomes very relevant later on). Get on tube to Kings Cross. Realise that I’ve practically left an hour too early so decide to get off at Euston and walk up (to kill time). Got out and find out that Kings Cross tube is closed because of a fire alert. Not again. Cross the road outside Euston on a green man light and a car pulls in and nearly runs me over. Give middle finger. Realised that somebody was out to get me, and subsequently I was on edge for the rest of the walk.
Walk into McDonalds, and see about 5 Celsi fans in there (told you this was getting worse). Amazingly, I didn’t throw hot water at them. However, I was surrounded by a load of twattish 17 year olds – along with a female who had some of the best legs I have ever seen on a woman, shame about her face though – talking about “hardcore” and “trance”. I reckon they were referring to refuse clearance and hypnosis. Got a bit confused when they started talking about “popping pills” though.
That’s the boring shit out of the way, here’s the important bit. Uneventful train journey, save for the hyperactive 3 year old near us. I fucking hate kids. Get out at Doncaster and get tickets for Cleethorpes (the tickets I was on were Fab 4 to Doncaster, must travel on time given). Go with rest of group to some unknown destination in Doncaster – a pub methinks – and then the bombshell : JZ of W&WW reports that the game is off. He jests, surely? Frantic phone calls ensure, and lo and behold, it really is off. Quite a few words are said, mostly revolving around sexual acts and cursing the whole world. Well, I was.
Action as to what to do was being decided and decided quickly. Most wanted to go to Cleethorpes to “make a day of it”. Given the stories I’ve heard about the Cleethorpes area I would rather go to Middlesbrough for a night (er…). Others were checking to see what else was on. Me? I wanted to return to London. There was a slight snag – remember the Fab 4 thing? Well, I couldn’t use it unless I was on the 1915 from Doncaster to London. Hmm, 7 hours in a South Yorkshire dive. Decided to get refunds on my Cleethorpes tickets, nil problemo on that score, but couldn’t do anything for the return. Well, £48 single if I wanted. Ouch. Decide to risk it coming back. Discover that the nice people at GNER realise we’re buggered and provide a written “Do not charge excess fare” note for the Fab 4. Nice people, no wonder they’re my favourite rail franchise.
See John Lelliott and a Spurz fan from, er, Hull, at the station. Did you know that Mr Lelliott uses Weekend First? Tight bastard. Get back to Balham feeling totally pissed off – even more so considering that I had arrived about half an hour before supposed kickoff.
Oh, and you know the bit I said about parking up? Well, guess what greeted me back in London SW12? A parking ticket, lovingly provided by Wandsworth Council. £60 fine as well, though if I do it within 14 days they’ll knock it down to £30. Nice of them. And my crime? “Parked in a restricted street during prescribed hours”. In other words, parking where I shouldn’t. It’s a residential area. Great. Do you reckon that if I was to tell them that the exact reason I parked there was because it was dark, I had come within an inch of losing my life and subsequently did not feel mentally fit enough to park further away, coupled with the fact that I was going to a slummy Northern shithole (no, I don’t mean Doncaster) I would get away with it? No, didn’t think so. AND it took me a fucking hour to get home. All of about 4 miles at most. Fucking cunting bollocks
Sorry to ramble, but this is what I had to put up with today. And no, it WASN’T fucking worth it…..