I initially had some university stuff on in Chelmsford this weekend and so Jen and I booked up for three nights in nearby London. It subsequently turned out that there wasn’t much benefit to me in attending and so that freed up my Saturday to go along to the New Den to see the Boro instead.
There’s always plenty going on in the Capital and our visit also coincided with a Sea Power gig at Islington Assembly Hall. They like to mix things up and on this tour they are playing songs from soundtracks that they’ve done, such as Man of Aran and From the Sea to the Land Beyond. They’ve also done one for a computer game, Disco Elysium. It won them both a BAFTA and a fresh set of fans, mainly young gamers. The crowd for this gig had far many younger people, than I think I’ve ever seen at a Sea Power gig, even twenty-odd years ago.
The track selection made for an interesting change, although I was hoping that they’d encore with something a bit more raucous. I think Sea Power are at their best when it’s all a bit chaotic, in the old days it would be Eamon off on a frolic with a drum, Phil knocking his teeth out stagediving or the bear on the loose. More recently it might be Noble crowd surfing, whilst Paul the guitar tech steps in for him. These are all things that I’d like the young gamers to see.
Jen and I also had time for a pre-match walk along Regents Canal. We were staying in Camden and went from the market area to Little Venice and back. We watched a couple with a boat navigating one of the locks and some monkey business in the London Zoo enclosure that backs on to the canal.
It was interesting to see the lifestyles of the people on the permanently moored boats along that stretch of the river. I’d happily live in one of them, I think, although I did feel the same about camper vans until we spent a week in one in Australia. Maybe I should try it for a short period first.
The match was easy enough to get to with a tube to London Bridge and then a five-minute overground journey to South Bermondsey. There’s a dedicated walkway for away fans arriving by rail and I was into the ground with plenty of time for a couple of beers in the outdoor area behind the stand.
It’s always a good feeling pre-match when the sun is shining and your team is still in with a chance of the playoffs.
My ticket was in the upper tier, in the second row and central. Carrick had made one change, taking Iheanacho out of the firing line after his performance against Leeds and bringing in Whittaker to the front three supporting Conway. We had most of the ball in the first half but didn’t do a lot with it. We rarely do these days, limiting ourselves to keeping possession and recycling it in the hope that the opposition defence might drop off to sleep.
Things got worse in the second half when Millwall stepped up the tempo. We couldn’t cope with the pressure and conceded on the hour. Even after going behind nothing really changed, but then again, that’s how it is with the players and system that we have. It might have been different if we’d hadn’t flogged off Akpom, Rogers, Latte Lath or even Jones. But when you sell your creative players whenever a bid comes in, that’s what happens. We will likely lose Hackney in the summer too.
Highlight of the day was bumping into Carl outside afterwards as we were held back to allow the Millwall fans first access to the trains. It was his first away game since the win on penalties at Old Trafford a few years ago. I suspect that after that performance it might be his last trip for a while.
I completed the full set of grounds in Division One of the Northern League earlier in the season and had just three to go in the Second Division. One of them was Alnwick Town and as we had tickets for a John Bramwell gig in Berwick on the Thursday night, we decided to stay up there until the weekend and then call into Alnwick on the way home.
Bramwell was good, with a similar set to the one we’d seen a few days earlier in Stockton. It was in The Barrels pub, in a downstairs room that held around forty people. I spent some time before the gig chatting to an old fella sat at the bar with a beagle/Jack Russell cross.
With two days in Berwick, we took the opportunity for a couple of coastal walks. I like walking by the sea and all you have to do to navigate is remember which side of your body should be closest to the water.
On the Friday we walked around some of the old defensive walls before joining the coastal path for a total of eight miles northwards and back. We passed The Stanks, where there is usually a football game or two in the summer. I’ll return at some point to tick it off.
On Saturday morning, we drove in the direction of Alnwick and parked at Budle Bay before walking past the Newtown Gun Emplacement and Bamburgh Golf Club until we reached the castle. There were rabbits in the fields and a bi-plane circling overhead. As we were pressed for time, we turned around at Bamburgh and clocked up just the six miles.
Alnwick play at St James’ Park and in black and white stripes. I’ve no idea if they named their ground and chose their colours before their Newcastle neighbours did, but someone somewhere has shown a lack of imagination.
We arrived at two o’clock as Jen had some things that she wanted to do and we managed to nab the last spot in the club car park. I suspect that every other car belonged to a player or official. Jen headed off to visit a garden full of poisonous plants. She returned later without any cuttings, so I guess I must still be in her good books.
After parking I returned to the gate to hand over my six quid admission. I bought a programme that wasn’t really worth the pound I paid for it. It’s nice to see paper programmes still being produced but there has to be something in them worth reading.
There was a clubhouse with a bar and a telly. I bought a cheese and onion pasty for lunch and watched the end of the Everton v Arsenal game. Moyes looked old, doddery and in need of a haircut. I know how it feels.
There were three seating options, a couple of padded seats outside the clubhouse that I presume were earmarked for directors, an old stand on the halfway line with wooden benches and a shipping container behind the goal with fifty seats. I started off in the latter and then worked my way around the rail.
Alnwick Town went into the game in eleventh place in the table with little to play for. Esh Winning were in fifth and hoping for a play-off spot. Alnwick took the lead just before half-time and saw out the rest of the half.
It was Grand National Day and so I delayed my return to the side of pitch and watched the race in the bar. I’d backed the horse that eventually came second, so got a run for my money. I’m not really sure why I didn’t go this year as it’s definitely the place to be. Maybe it’s the size of the crowds and the scrum at the gates.
I headed outside to learn that I hadn’t missed any goals. There were plenty of chances at both ends in the second half, but Alnwick held on to take the points and dent Esh Winning’s play-off hopes. Two Northern League grounds to go.
One of the good things about being back in the UK is the number of gigs that we can get to. This one was at the Theatre on the Lake in Keswick and a two-night trip worked very well for fitting in a couple of walks and, with the lighter nights, an evening fixture in the fourth division of the Westmoreland League. That’s the eighteenth tier of the English pyramid.
The gig was Our Man in the Field. We’ve seen him a couple of times before and he was better on both previous occasions. The sound was poor early on and I thought his new songs a bit dull. With the venue being a theatre, there was an interval for consuming those little tubs of ice cream and about a third of the thirty or so people in the crowd didn’t return to their seats afterwards.
The walks went well. On the first day we took the circular route around Derwentwater, a route where you’d think that it would be difficult to get lost. We missed a turn towards the end though and extended our day from a planned ten to an eventual eleven miles.
The highlight was feeding a duck from my hand. I like it when a bird is trusting enough to do that. It had a more solid peck than the crow that I’d fed in a similar way the previous week.
On the second day we took a path towards Cockshot Wood, intending to just do an out and back walk of a similar distance. However, the path looped around towards the lake, and we ended up retracing some of the previous day’s route, albeit in the opposite direction. It was good to have walked on consecutive days and a total of seventeen miles will have boosted the step count average.
The game was just outside of Langwathby, on the outskirts of Penrith and an easy enough half-hour drive from Keswick. The Tollbar ground had a couple of pitches and a cricket field. I arrived to find the car park full and joined those parked along the hedgerow of the road outside.
From what I understand, Langwathby United broke away from Eden Valley Reserves in the summer. They’ve done well for a new club, sitting towards the top end of the division. Maybe they took all the decent players with them as Eden Valley Reserves were bottom of the table with just a single point from their sixteen matches to date.
I got chatting with a fella who pointed out a not-so-secret World War 2 bunker amongst some nearby farm buildings. Apparently, a tank was hidden there in case of an invasion and was intended to either defend or blow-up a nearby bridge depending on how the fighting was going. He knew a few of the players and he picked up on his conversations with them on village events whenever play brought them back to our section of the touchline.
There were a couple of early goals. Eden Valley went one up through a defensive error and then promptly equalised with a finish that I managed to snap as it went in. The visitors regained the lead after some further slack defending and went in at the break with a two-one lead.
There were some harsh words in the Langwathby half-time huddle, and they were better in the second-half, managing to equalise. Eden Valley held on for the draw though and doubled their points total for the season.
This trip started off with a booking for a Boo Hewerdine gig and then expanded to take in a game and go for a walk. The gig was at a pub called The Doublet in Glasgow and took place in an upstairs room with a capacity of around thirty people. The band was Hotel Art, which is a duo made up of Boo Hewerdine and a Slovakian bloke half his age. We tend to see Boo quite often and I think the Hotel Art songs are the best he’s done for a while. Perhaps it’s like when you have an old dog and then you get a puppy which gives it a new lease of life.
The walk was on the West Highland Way. I had no idea that a national trail would start so close to Glasgow, but I suppose one of the good things about the UK is that you are never too far from the countryside. We walked north from Milngavie, covering about ten miles in total, along a route that was well enough signposted for us not to have to worry about getting lost.
I don’t suppose highland cattle count as wildlife, so the highlight was seeing a hawk. Or something like a hawk. I’ve no idea really what it was but it didn’t look like something that small rodents would feel comfortable being around. It was initially sat in a field and then, on seeing us, it flew into some trees. Next time we are up in Glasgow, we’ll pick up the trail where we left off and see how far we get by doing it in sections.
I hadn’t intended to go to the Scotland game at Hampden Park. I’d been there before and so would usually have selected a game at a new ground. However, I’d hatched a cunning plan to try and make getting tournament tickets easier by signing Paul and I up to the Scottish Supporters Club. We’d collect points by attending games and on the off chance that Scotland ever qualified for another tournament, we’d be in pole position for Tartan Army tickets.
The trip was with Jen, rather than Paul, so Jen had to attend the game to accrue Paul’s point. She much prefers small fixtures to sell outs in national stadiums but was happy to come along. We walked from our hotel on the other side of the river, passing the old Third Lanark ground. It looks as if there is some construction work going on, perhaps the installation of an artificial pitch. I look forward to seeing a game there someday, ideally from the old overgrown terracing.
The highlight of the game for Jen was a macaroni pie. Mac and cheese is seen as a ‘side’ in the US, so the peculiarly scotch experience of eating it in a pie was a welcome novelty. I doubt it will catch on stateside, or even south of Berwick, but I enjoyed it. Next time I might opt for the traditional scotch pie or a donner meat pie. Yes, really. A recent DNA test revealed that I’m 39% Scottish and maybe that explains why I’ve a tendency to eat such delicacies.
The game was pish, as us part-Bravehearts say. Scotland held a one goal advantage from the first leg but were soon two down on the day and a third Greece goal seconds after the break put the outcome beyond doubt. My main interest was in seeing how the Boro’s Tommy Conway did. He was only given the last fifteen minutes but put the effort in and was always looking to be available for a pass. As we accumulate our Tartan Army points I’d hope that he gets more time on the pitch.
The stadium was just about empty by full-time and most of those fans who had remained had done so only to have the opportunity of booing Steve Clarke and his players. It was a little odd pretending to care who won when chatting with the people sat around me, but who knows, maybe I’ll develop an affinity with them. If not, then I’ll just have to go for the pies.
Jen and I had walked the central sections of Hadrian’s Wall fourteen years ago. That’s the best part and at the time we thought we’d leave it at that. A couple of years ago we decided to finish the trail off and got as far as Rickerby Park in Carlisle. As I’d identified Penrith’s fixture with Blyth Town as my game for the day, we took the opportunity to head further north before the game and pick up the path where we had left off.
We’d been out the night before, watching Pete Wylie at the Georgian in Stockton. I’d enjoyed his stuff back in the eighties but hadn’t heard anything he’d done since his heyday. It was a decent show with plenty of chat between songs.
The late finish to the gig meant that we didn’t reach Rickerby Park until ten o’clock. That left sufficient time for a nine-mile round trip to Grinsdale, following whatever river flows through Carlisle. We passed by a castle and a couple of churches, but didn’t take the opportunity to have a closer look.
There wasn’t much in the way of wildlife. A black duck and a grey squirrel were about our lot. I’m not certain that it actually was a duck. Lets just call it a swimming bird. Despite carrying my camera in my hand for the entire time I wasn’t quick enough to get a photo of the squirrel. Still, you know what they look like.
Four hours and twenty-odd thousand steps later, we were back at Rickerby Park and with sufficient time to get to Frenchfield Park for the Penrith game. I checked the driving directions on the futbology app and discovered that it would actually be quicker to get to an Annan Athletic fixture in Scotland. It was tempting, but as it would have meant a longer post-match drive back to Teesside, I stuck with the original plan.
We arrived at Frenchfield Park with ten minutes to spare and found the last remaining parking spot. It was seven quid admission, and I bought a programme for a further pound. Despite it being close to kick-off there were plenty of seats in the main stand.
As we’d not yet had any lunch Jen nipped down to the food hut and brought me back a burger and some chips. The burger was fine, but the chips weren’t worth finishing.
Blyth Town are up at the top end of the Northern League Division One table. It’s unlikely that they will catch leaders Redcar Athletic and secure automatic promotion, but they have a more than reasonable chance of finishing in the playoffs. There’s not much for Penrith to play for as they are in the lower reaches of the table and are unlikely to slip into the relegation spots.
Blyth were the better side and by the time half an hour had gone were two goals up. They maintained their lead going into the break. I took the opportunity to prevent my legs from stiffening up and spent much of the second half watching from different viewpoints around the perimeter fence.
There were a handful of young kids supporting Penrith from behind one of the goals. They’d even brought a drum. At the other end it was just some sheep up on the fell. If it was a fell. It might just have been field with a slope. I’ve no idea of the difference.
Penrith got back into the game just after the restart, but within a minute Blyth had restored their two-goal advantage. A thirty yarder from Penrith reduced the deficit to a single goal again and made for an interesting final twenty minutes. Blyth hung on though to take the points.
This was a bonus game that we spotted whilst walking along the Hadrian’s Wall trail between Rickerby Park and Grinsdale. The path pretty much follows the river and goes past the Sheepmount Athletics stadium. The stadium itself was busy with people jogging around the track and someone shotting the putt. Near the entrance some kids were unloading javelins from the back of a car. We never got to mess around with javelins at that age. I’m not sure I’d be trusted to do it even now.
The centre field of the athletics stadium didn’t look big enough for a football pitch and didn’t have any goalposts. However, there were a few games going on in the surrounding fields and so Jen and I paused our walk to wander over to the match that was taking place on the pitch which had a fence around and dugouts for the coaching teams.
I asked about the teams and a lady very kindly called up the information on her phone and let me take a photo of it. Isn’t technology great? It was an under-fifteen game in the West Cumbria Youth League between Unisun Athletic and Windscale. The match was well into the second half and our arrival coincided with Unisun extending their lead to four-nil. We stayed long enough to see a Windscale consolation with a strongly struck shot from well outside the box, before leaving them to it and resuming our walk.
One of things that that I try to do whenever I’m working away from the UK is to visit the countries near to where I’m staying. It worked especially well when we lived near Kuala Lumpur, and we spent a lot of time exploring the region with a mix of iconic sights and low-level sport.
Nobody would ever think of describing Al Ula as a ’hub’. There are usually around four flights a day, mainly internal and so it takes a bit of planning, and some time off work, to visit just about anywhere. Jordan is one of the places that I’d been lining up for a while. Petra, of course, is a well-known tourist destination and equally importantly, it’s a country where I’d not yet seen a football game.
The trip didn’t get off to the best of starts. I’d booked a hire car from the only agency that claimed to be at the airport, rather than off-site. They lied. After some difficulty tracking the guy that had arranged to meet us, we were taken to the middle of nowhere. I began to wonder if they had a side gig in organ harvesting. When we arrived we were offered a car that not only had more than a hundred thousand miles on the clock, but it looked as if it had spent most of those miles competing in demolition derbies or delivering coal. I couldn’t be arsed to go back to the airport and start the whole process again though and so we took it.
Our first couple of nights were in Amman and we made the obligatory visits to the Citadel and Roman Amphitheatre. They were fine. Of more interest were the pavement pet shops that we saw whilst walking back in the direction of our hotel. I quite like the idea of someone passing by and, on a whim, buying half a dozen week old ducklings.
The next stop was Wadi Rum for a couple of nights in the desert. It’s a four hour drive south from Amman and, as it’s close to the Saudi Arabian border, it’s probably not much further away from Amman as it is from Al Ula. The rock formations at Wadi Rum were spectacular and we spent time riding camels and hiking early in the morning whilst there was still some shade.
Jen and I were also driven around in the back of a pick-up to see rock carvings and places of interest. Lawrence of Arabia featured heavily with stops at his house, a spring that he drank from and a secluded corner where he had a piss.
The camp that we stayed in was virtually empty. On the first night a Dutch couple were there but on the second night we had the entire twelve tent set up to ourselves. Apparently, tourism virtually halted a year ago with the escalation of hostilities in the region. We passed other camps that also seemed deserted and at some of the destinations on the pick-up drive around, we were the only people there.
I felt sorry for the camp owner, who was just a young lad and had clearly made a big investment in his business. He seemed upbeat about prospects, but how do you absorb a year’s worth of bookings just vanishing?
The final part of our trip was three nights in Petra. It was about an hour or so’s drive back in the direction of Amman. Whilst hammering along the motorway I noticed something unusual in the middle lane. I slammed on the brakes and realised just in time that it was a puppy. Fortunately, there were no cars immediately behind me, so I was able to leap out and grab him. He can’t have been more than about six weeks old.
We tried googling animal shelters but that doesn’t seem to be a thing in Jordan. If I’d been in England I’d have kept him, but we eventually decided that his best chances of survival were to be dropped off where there were plenty of people and few cars. We found a spot in the next town and got a few strange looks as we abandoned him, but it gave him a better chance of surviving than he’d had twenty minutes earlier.
Petra was virtually as quiet as Wadi Rum. We stayed in a five-storey hotel right by the main gate which had only five guests. The Petra site was similarly deserted, which was great. Quite often we found ourselves with no other people in sight. On the third day we hiked in from a back gate to the tomb known as The Cathedral and it felt like we had the hiking trail to ourselves.
At times, there were more stray cats and dogs than people. Cats seemed appropriate to be wandering ancient tombs, but the dogs looked out of place. I always think a dog should have a human of its own.
Good as all the tourist stuff was, I needed to tick off a football ground to make the visit complete. There weren’t many options, and the only match of the trip took place on our first night in Jordan. Getting there required a forty-minute drive north from our hotel in Amman to the Prince Mohammed stadium at Zarqa. The roads were poor, as they were in most of Jordan, and I seemed to hit a pothole every few hundred yards.
The fixture was in the Shield Cup and from what I could gather, was being played at a neutral ground. It’s a pity that we hadn’t arrived in Jordan a few hours earlier as there had already been a game in the same competition at the ground that afternoon.
We were able to park at the stadium and had a chat with a lad hoping to pick up some of the passing shisha trade. He mentioned that he was a Liverpool fan then directed us further along the stand to the nearest entrance gate.
There wasn’t a ticket office, or at least not one that I could see and a guy scanning tickets pointed us in the direction of a young lad who he reckoned would sort us out. It seemed that the section we were trying to get into was for the Al-Faisaly fans and one of their ultras had been tasked with buying tickets online for anyone who turned up without having made prior arrangements.
We gave him four Jordanian Dinars each and once he’d downloaded the tickets, he accompanied us to the entrance and the first fella scanned them from his phone. It all seemed a lot more complicated than just handing cash over without involving the middleman, but that’s modern life.
We were then searched, and Jen had two cans of fake coke that we’d bought ten minutes earlier confiscated. When I asked if we could drink them there and then, someone intervened to point out that elderly visitors from abroad would be unlikely to misbehave and we ended up having our drinks returned to us to take into the stand.
We had seats along the side of the pitch, facing the main stand. Prince Mohammed Stadium was built in 1998 and has a current capacity of 11,400. It’s an artificial surface with a running track between the pitch and the stands.
Every now and then a group of Al-Faisaly fans would wander over to chat, checking out who we were, why we were there or explaining to us the difference between ultras and hooligans. One group of young lads even offered to take us out to a restaurant to sample the Jordanian national dish of mansaf.
I think Al-Faisaly were expected to win but unfortunately for the fans around us that’s not how it worked out. Al-Sareer had the better of the chances, but the game didn’t really take off until the final ten minutes when Al-Faisaly had a man sent off and then Al-Sareer took advantage of their numerical advantage to nick a late winner.
More importantly, I’d ticked off a football ground in my sixty-second different country.
I’d had an interesting couple of days leading up to this game with a visit from one of Jen’s American brothers and his wife. We met them in York, showed them the delights of Norton and then spent a couple of days up at Hadrian’s Wall.
We walked a section at Cawfields and called into the Museums at Vindolanda and Birdoswald. If I’d been to Vindolanda when we walked the wall a few years ago I’d forgotten it, but both were well worth a visit.
With David and Jackie having left us for the Scotland leg of their holiday I was free to turn my attention to the Boro game. It had been a poor start to the season for us with just the point against Huddersfield from our opening four games.
I was reasonably confident that we could turn things around though. There’s been a lot of change in personnel and whilst we’ve lost some quality players from last season’s team, once the new fellas gel I’d expect us to start picking up points.
Harry’s cousin Alistair was free for this one and so we were treated to his parkour skills as he scaled every wall and jumped every bollard on the way to the Riverside.
One of the reasons I was hoping for a good performance is to try and convert Alistair. He claims to be a Man City fan, although I view it as a good sign that he’s happy to wear the various Boro tops that one of his Grandads gets him.
My hopes weren’t to be fulfilled though. QPR took the lead just before half time with a shot that could either have been a ‘worldie’ or, more likely to my mind, an outrageous fluke. We had our share of the chances, more than our share in fact, but with a second goal for QPR coming twenty minutes from time, we slipped to another defeat.
I doubt a position at the foot of the table with just a single point from five games will encourage Alistair to switch allegiance but with an international break coming up there’s an opportunity for Carrick to try and sort things out.
Jen and I like to get to Spain fairly frequently and this trip was another one based around flying into Madrid. I arrived early morning from the Middle East with Jen having spent the previous night at an airport hotel. Our plan was to stay three nights in Avila and then head back to Madrid for an evening out prior to catching our return flights the following day.
First up was some hiking. We broke the journey to Avila at the Fuenfria valley and walked up into the hills. There was still snow on the ground and as we gained height, I regretted not having any of those spikey things with me to slip over my boots. We didn’t see much in the way of wildlife, a couple of those big soary-type birds and a dog in the car park that might have been half-bear, but it was good to get out into the hills.
We’ve taken a similar approach in the past where we pick up a hire car in Madrid and motor out of the city for an hour or so to places like Toledo or Segovia. Avila was just as good, with a medieval wall around the town and sufficient bars and restaurants to meet the needs of someone who hadn’t had a drink for the previous six weeks.
As you might have expected, I’d checked out the nearby fixtures and Real Avila had a game on the Sunday. There were a few options for Saturday, and I picked a game at Leganes mainly on the basis that an afternoon kick-off wouldn’t impact upon the evening activities. I was also influenced by Leganes having an ex-Boro player turning out for them. Or at least they usually do. Ken Omeruo, a long-term loanee under Mogga and Karanka, is a regular for Leganes these days, but, as is often the way, picked up an injury after I’d booked the tickets.
I took the scenic route from Avila and it was an enjoyable drive to the outskirts of Madrid. We left the car in a Decathlon car park five minutes’ walk from the Estadio Municipal de Butarque and headed around to the south stand.
The tickets had cost thirty euros each and we were able to have them scanned directly from my phone at the entrance gate. Our seats were behind one of the goals in an open section. There was just the one covered stand and the twelve thousand capacity looks to be about right for a fairly unfashionable Madrid team in the second tier.
There was a small section of Sporting Gijon fans in the corner to the side of our section. This was supplemented by a few more fans on the other side of the fence and then the odd one or two dotted about near us. The doesn’t seem to be any real rivalry between the clubs, or if there is, it didn’t extend to any animosity between the supporters.
Oddly, the floodlights were on long before kick-off, despite the bright sunshine. Maybe there are tighter restrictions on utility company profits in Spain. Highlight of the first half was the visit of the churros bloke. He wandered around the stand selling three churros with a cup of chocolate dip for three and a half euros.
Leganes went a goal up inside three minutes with a shot from the edge of the box that sneaked through a crowd of players and ended up in the net. They were well on top at that stage and could easily have put the game out of Gijon’s reach if they had taken one or two of the chances that they created. The momentum changed ten minutes before the break though when a yellow card was changed to a red after a VAR intervention and the home side found themselves a man down.
As the second half went on, the visitors grew in confidence and looked likely to take something from the game. Or at least they did until the ref evened up the numbers with a few minutes to go. Every time there was a Gijon foul, and sometimes when there wasn’t, the Leganes players had been agitating for cards. It finally paid off with a red in the closing stages.
With the numbers down to ten a side Leganes were able to see it out and take the points. We took a more direct route back to Avila for a prompt start on the tapas and rioja.
It seems ages since we’ve been to the Riverside, but it’s just five weeks. In that time though I’ve seen ten games elsewhere including fixtures in Latvia and Qatar, so it’s little wonder that the memories of the draw against Bristol City on the afternoon of Bonfire Night have already faded.
Jen and I drove back from Cumbria on the morning of the game. We’d stayed over the night before after a Boo Hewerdine gig. The trip had also given us the opportunity to do a little bit more of the Hadrian’s Wall National Trail. We did the good bits in the middle of the route ten years ago, but have recently been completing the sections at the western end. There’s not much wall to see, but it’s easy walking and well-signposted, so requires little preparation other than remembering where we left the trail on the previous visit.
On this occasion we had time to walk for six miles from Crosby on Eden to Rickerby Park and back. The temperature rarely got above zero and we saw little wildlife other than geese and robins, but it was great to be out in the fresh air before the daylight faded.
The gig was very good too. Boo was playing in the village hall in Armathwaite which has a capacity of less than one hundred. There was no bar, but everyone was encouraged to bring their own drink and we had a great view from the front row. Jen was a bit worried that he might think we were stalking him as we were front row in a small club in Bradford for one of his gigs last year, but I don’t think he recognized us.
I remember being front row for Mark Lamarr at the Comedy Store in Leicester Square thirty-five years ago. I had my beer resting on the stage and then my feet. Lamarr and I exchanged a few words during the show, culminating in him asking if I thought I could do better than him and then challenging me to step up on to the stage. I accepted his invitation and did an impression of Mr. Whippy having a shit. It got as big a laugh as he had done all night. Thankfully for the people of Armathwaite, the stage was too far away for me to put my feet up and there was no reprise of my brief stand-up career.
Having dropped off Jen, I picked up Harry and Alistair and we made our way to the Riverside. Talk was all about how Carrick was likely to have benefitted from the World Cup break with him having had the chance to get his ideas across the players. We also wondered how Riley McGree would do after the career high of playing in a World Cup against Messi.
Initially it looked as if there had been little benefit to us from the World Cup break as we struggled to assert ourselves against Luton, but we grew more into the game as the first half progressed. McGree looked more confident than usual, so perhaps there was a Qatar dividend. With time running out another Crooksy cameo goal took the three points and moved us into the top half of the table.
Trail of the Lion King 