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 was a good day. I popped around to my Mam’s early on and then took in a Sunday league game. The afternoon was spent arseing around in the garden whilst the dog chomped on a bone that consisted of most of a cow’s pelvis. In the evening Jen and I called into the Sun Inn where I had a couple of pints of banked Bass before moving on to the Social Club, which is probably better described as upstairs at KU Bar, to see John Bramwell.
There wasn’t a big crowd, but everyone sat quietly and listened whilst he ran through a mix of really old stuff, Kloot standards and some of his recent Harmonic Orchestra songs. It was the first of three Bramwell gigs over the next two and a half weeks.
The Sunday league game was in the Peterlee and District Premier Division and at Memorial Park, Easington. It’s the pitch next to the Colliery Welfare ground, which was the first place I saw a proper football game back in the autumn of 1973. There was a game going on simultaneously to the match I was watching, but I decided to ignore it and focus on my original choice.
Easington Colliery Welfare were taking on Shotton Comrades in a top versus bottom of the table clash. It was a cold but sunny morning and as I stood and looked across the pitch towards the sea, it made me appreciate how good it is to be in England in the Spring and that there’s beauty in what might be considered some of the less likely North East of England locations.
Easington were in blue and white with Shotton in a maroon and black kit. There were around thirty spectators, mainly older blokes, perhaps keen to get out of the house. A couple of WAGs sat on the grass near to the Shotton subs and coaches and there were a few younger blokes on the far side who had already cracked open the lager cans.
The difference between top and bottom of the table was noticeable with a steady flow of goals from Easington. It was a good-natured game though and Shotton kept their heads up. Their keeper had a decent game, and the final score could easily have been a lot higher without his efforts.
With fifteen minutes to go, and after having a discreet word with the captains, the ref blew for full-time early. Thirteen-one was enough, I suppose, and it freed up some time for those heading off for Mother’s Day activities.
As we approach the business end of the season the visit of relegation threatened Oxford had to provide three points if we were to stay in the play-off hunt.
Jen and I had been to see Boo Hewerdine at Coulby Newham cathedral the night before and I was chatting with Col, an old school-friend. He was a Darlo fan as a kid but is more into ice-hockey these days. He had little faith in the Boro’s prospects of reaching the play-offs and even less confidence that we’d get promoted at the expense of whichever of the top three teams misses out on automatic. He’s probably right, but you’ve got to enjoy the chase whilst it’s still on.
The gig had good acoustics and a well-behaved crowd. Bonus point for the cushions that softened the effect of the wooden pews.
On the morning of the game, I nipped up to Declan Carroll’s stables at Malton to see Hickton, our syndicate horse. Most of the other fellas don’t bother with the stable visits and this time there was only Graham and I. Hickton is a friendly enough horse and likes to have his head stroked. Declan reckons that he’s progressing well, and he has an entry for Redcar early in April.
On this occasion, we drove up to the gallops to see him work with a couple of sprinters. They used the starting blocks and then had a stiff gallop for four uphill furlongs. He was sharply out of the stalls and ran well, keeping up with the faster horses before taking a bit of pulling up. If he doesn’t run well next time, it won’t be for a lack of fitness.
The Boro’s fitness was improving too, with regular centre-half Rav van den Berg making the bench. He got on for the final few minutes, so should now be available for selection. We’d been poor in the first half and went in at the break a goal down. At that stage, it looked as if Col had got it spot on in his play-off prediction.
We kept at it in the second half, with Howson holding everything together from deep. Iheanacho equalised with his first goal for the club and hopefully that will boost his confidence. It’s a loan that seems more in his interest than ours but if he hits form then it might pay off.
The winner, ten minutes from time, was a glorious build up full of flicks and backheels with the final one coming from Borges as he steered it home. It was the sort of move that you’d expect if you were five goals to the good rather than desperately needing a winner as time slips away for keeping your season alive.
The win took us to seventh, with only goal difference keeping us out of the play-off spots. Seven games to go and a Wembley trip is still a possibility.
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.
I had some university stuff to do in Chelmsford the first weekend in October and as it’s a shortish journey by train from London I thought it an ideal opportunity for Jen and I to spend a few days in the capital and do some touristy things.
We stayed in Camden, just around the corner from KOKO, the music venue that used to be known as Camden Palace. I’ve seen a few gigs there over the years, including Bruce Foxton almost forty years ago. Our apartment overlooked some wasteland, and a highlight was watching a fox napping in the early morning sunshine.
We got up to the usual stuff like drinking in Soho and some less usual stuff such as an absinthe lecture and tasting in Hackney. It was an educational way to pass an hour or so and I came away with a better knowledge of the drink than I’d started with. I doubt I’ll change my regular nip from whisky, but I quite liked the arse on of dissolving sugar into the absinthe by dripping liquid onto a spoon and then into the glass.
We also went on a mudlarking session close to the Millenium Bridge. It’s a popular area for poking about in the mud, so I’d no real expectations of discovering anything valuable on the riverbank. I found a few sheep teeth, some clay pipe stems, various small pieces of broken pottery and an Elizabethan two-shilling coin dating back to 2017.
Best part of the trip was a Dee C Lee gig at KOKO. She was touring her new album with fellow Style-Councillor Steve White on drums. They were joined by Mick Talbot for Paris Match meaning that only Mr. Weller was missing for a full reunion. I’d initially been hopeful that he’d turn up and sit in for a couple of songs as Mick did, particularly as his daughter Leah was providing the support, but he didn’t show. It was probably better that way as it was a good gig in its own right, and his presence would likely have overshadowed everything else.
Sports-wise, we didn’t get up to very much. There was the option of visiting Crayford and Romford dog tracks, but in the end, we settled for a football game at The Valley in the Women’s second-tier Championship. We started our match-day journey early on the Sunday morning at Westminster Pier and took a boat trip along the Thames to Greenwich. It was all very interesting, and I picked up a few snippets from the commentary about the history of the buildings that we chugged past.
After arriving at Greenwich, we visited the Cutty Sark and then Greenwich Observatory. Both were busy and provided elevated views of London along the Thames and then from the top of the hill in Greenwich Park.
It was around an hour’s walk from Greenwich Observatory to The Valley, through estates that reminded me of my year living in Plumstead in the mid-eighties. We arrived with time to spare and as I’d bought hospitality tickets in advance for twenty-one quid a pop, we were able to head inside through the main entrance and take the stairs to the 1905 lounge.
We had some Coq au Vin with mash and watched Scottish football on the telly before making our way outside to the padded seats in the Director’s Box. There wasn’t much of a crowd with virtually as many in hospitality as in the rest of the main stand.
Expectations seemed to be for a home win as Charlton were sitting at the top of the league with a perfect four wins from their opening four matches.
Sunderland clearly hadn’t read the script though and quickly went two up, before Charlton pulled one back on the half-hour. It looked as if the Mackems had clinched the points when they added a third goal twelve minutes from time. Charlton weren’t done though and scored twice in the final stages to level the score at three-each. I thought the result fair, although as you’d expect, the home players and fans were clearly happier with their late point than the visitors were with a point that I’m sure they would have taken had it been offered beforehand.
The return trip was a little quicker as we were able to catch a bus back to Greenwich Pier from close to the ground. With minimal waiting for the penultimate boat of the day we were soon back at Westminster Pier.
Krankenhaus was done for another year. It really is a wonderful festival and has grown from around three hundred attendees five years ago to twelve hundred or so this year, which is big enough for me. The very friendly vibe is probably enhanced by the number of dogs that come along. Plus, Sea Power aficionados tend to be some of the nicest people around. I don’t think I saw anyone being a dickhead the entire weekend.
The highlights were the Sea Power sets themselves and for their Sunday night performance we got a mellow rarities set, drawing heavily on Hamilton’s songs. All it would have needed for perfection would have been a rendition of Lovely Day Tomorrow.
I hope that the festival has started to turn a profit and that it helps to keep them going. I’d miss gigs like the two that we got from them this weekend.
As we were staying at Muncaster for the rest of the week, I had the opportunity to take in a match on the Bank Holiday Monday at Borough Park in Workington. It was a fixture in the seventh tier Premier Division of the Northern Premier League.
I can remember when Workington were a Football League club. It’s forty-seven years since they were replaced by Wimbledon in the penultimate season of the bottom four in Division Four having to apply for re-election. I don’t remember Bill Shankly managing them though, that was before my time. Visitors Hebburn Town are ex-Northern League and have done well to advance two steps since those days.
It was thirteen quid admission, which seems high for tier seven, but maybe that’s my age. Why can’t I still buy a car for a farthing? The turnstile was impressive in an old rickety way, as was almost all the ground. The dugouts seemed modern, which is a shame, as I’d hoped to have imagined Shankly sat in one of them. I still did, but had to put in the extra effort to imagine the dugout too.
The capacity of the ground was limited to three thousand, with seating for around five hundred in the old main stand. With time to spare before kick-off I got myself a programme and joined the queue for one of those curly sausages that always remind me of a particular style of dog turd. It came with mash and gravy and tasted better than it looked. It was announced before kick-off that Workington had signed Efe Ambrose who had turned out for Celtic in the past and who had more than fifty Nigerian caps. He wasn’t available for this game.
After watching from the seats for a while I toured the rest of Borough Park and had spells watching from behind each goal.
Hebburn had the best of the opening exchanges, blazing a shot over the bar early on and then taking a first half lead with a shot that the Workington goalie got a hand to and should probably have kept out. It looked as if that would be sufficient for Hebburn to see the game out but a break down the right ten minutes from time led to an equaliser. The move was repeated four minutes later and to the delight of all those around me, including a dog, Workington went ahead.
Hebburn understandably weren’t happy about the changed circumstances and their day deteriorated further when a fella picked up a second yellow soon afterwards. All Workington had to do after that was run down the clock and they managed it easily enough.
It’s my job these days to sort out the tickets when Paul and I head off for a tournament and, despite hours spent in online ticket queues, it didn’t go well. We only got tickets for one game at the Euros and so when writing about it there’s a lot to cram into a single post. This might just be my longest write-up ever. Or maybe it will just feel like it.
Of course, it’s not helped by my tendency to mention what I got up to the afternoon before, which on this occasion, was watching The Wedding Present at the Georgian. They’d put on a matinee show to avoid clashing with the England game and that suited me fine, especially since they played both Brassneck and Kennedy, the only two of their songs that I whinge about not hearing.
Next day Paul and I flew into Cologne. Paul’s job was to take care of the flights and hotels and without going into detail, he’d absolutely nailed it on both counts. Well done, mate. After a quick cab ride into the city centre, we dumped our bags and headed off to the fan park to watch the Belgium v Slovakia game on a big screen.
Cologne was full of Scots who were in town for their game with Switzerland two days later and a lot of them had pitched up at the fan park. We had a few Bitburger beers, which were nothing special, and watched Belgium curse the advent of VAR when they had two Lukaku goals disallowed for infringements that they would likely have got away with in the past.
We left the fan park to watch the final game of the day in a nearby Italian restaurant. Clearly, they hadn’t anticipated that Cologne would be full of people looking to eat and drink. Or perhaps they had but simply weren’t able to put extra staff on. We solved the staffing issue by ordering a bottle of different coloured wine each in the knowledge that once they had arrived it would no longer matter too much how long the food would take to be served.
The memorable moment from that Austria v France game was Mbappe’s broken nose and I called him out for timewasting until I saw the blood. The evening finished with brandy and cigars on the terrace. All in all, a very good start to the trip.
Day two started with breakfast in a café by the Rhine and then some wandering around to see what Cologne had to offer. There were some buildings that looked older than the nineteen-forties, notably the cathedral. That was quite surprising really considering the extensive WW2 bombing raids that, on one particular night, had involved more than a thousand aircraft.
Once again, it was the Scots fans that stood out. I think it’s great that they’ve qualified for a tournament. I remember back in the seventies when for two World Cups they were the only British representatives and it’s a pity that they had so long without the chance to follow their team abroad.
As we passed the cathedral, there were a few of them playing bagpipes. Be grateful that I don’t add videos with sound to these posts.
There had been some storm warnings which were severe enough for the fan park to be closed for the day. However, the rain held off until five o’clock which meant that we then had to dodge the downpour to get from our hotel to the pub that we’d identified earlier as being the place to watch the six o’clock game featuring Turkey and Georgia.
This was one of the fixtures that I’d tried to get tickets for, but when we saw the torrential rain inside the stadium at Dortmund, I was glad that we were sat inside a bar eating pork knuckle with mash and sauerkraut, washed down with ongoing servings of the local Kolsch beer. When you’ve drained your 200ml glass, the barman just appears with a fresh one and then marks a beer mat to keep a running total. Perfect.
The game was decent too, with a couple of cracking goals from Turkey and then, at two-one and with the Georgian keeper up in the Turkey box in added time, a quick break allowed the Turks to knock the ball into the empty Georgian net and seal the win.
For the nine o’clock game we sought a change of scenery and headed a hundred yards or so up the road to an area with a few bars that had tables outside. It was still raining but we found somewhere with large umbrellas and settled in for Portugal’s game against Czechia. I must have missed their change of name from when they were the Czech Republic. Perhaps they’ve installed a monarchy when I wasn’t looking.
Ronaldo’s presence overshadowed everything else that was going on in the game, or at least in the eyes of the tv director. He doesn’t really contribute much these days though. Czechia took the lead with a goal that was celebrated first in our bar and then again, ten seconds later, in the bar opposite with the delayed feed.
There was more rain, but we were safely under cover and with our now customary order of a bottle of wine each, we didn’t have to worry about any drop off in service. Portugal equalised from an own goal and then had what looked like the winner disallowed for Ronaldo being a fraction offside. They nicked the points anyway in added time.
On the morning of day three we took a train from Cologne to Gelsenkirchen. It should have taken an hour but instead took two and a half. We overheard lots of complaints from those around us about the German rail service. It seemed cheaper than the UK, particularly as we bought our tickets shortly before travel, but just about every train listed on the boards appeared to be running late.
The delay wasn’t a big deal to us and worked in our favour for checking into the hotel. After dumping our bags, we had a wander around Gelsenkirchen. There was a largely empty fan zone without screens and a bar close by with no free seats. We eventually found somewhere to watch Croatia take on Albania. The game had a Boro connection with Carling Cup winner Doriva on the bench as an assistant coach for Albania.
Modric was looking old, although he might say the same about us. Paul mentioned that we’d watched him play back in the 2008 tournament, but whilst I remember being at that game in Vienna where Turkey were kitted out in Boro strips, I’ve no recollection of what Modric got up to. Nevertheless, playing in Euros sixteen years apart is impressive.
Albania went a goal up whilst we were watching, but after we’d moved on Croatia scored twice before Albania nicked a draw. Well done, Dave Doriva.
We’d dipped out early from the Croatia game to give ourselves plenty of time to reach the amphitheatre alongside the main Gelsenkirchen fan park. We got there easily enough via a shuttle from the station and then followed the signs for what seemed like a very indirect route to the amphitheatre. It’s supposedly a six-thousand-seater outdoor area and apparently Scorpions have played there. That last bit of info may not be too unusual in Germany.
We were there to watch the host nation take on Hungary in the six o’clock game and got there early enough for a spot with a decent view. The efficient bar service meant that we kept ourselves topped up with beer and I had a foot long sausage in a tiny bun. That’s the right ratio in my book. Germany weren’t overly impressive but they managed the win that qualified them for the knock-out stage with a game to spare.
The amphitheatre emptied quickly after the Germany win, but we as we had somewhere to sit and there was still a bar open, we hung around to watch the first half of Scotland’s game with Switzerland. There were probably another couple of hundred or so people that did the same.
At half-time we made the short walk to the fans park proper. It’s on the site of an old colliery and it was good to see that in a nod to their heritage, some of the mining equipment remained in place. We had fish and chips from a bus, albeit without the option of vinegar, and watched Scotland achieve the draw that kept their tournament alive. By the time the game was over it was no trouble finding seats on the shuttle ride back to the station.
Day four was matchday and as I had some schoolwork to do, we didn’t head out until lunchtime. We had lunch at an outdoor table of an Italian restaurant and watched the Italian and Spanish fans wandering about town.
As the afternoon wore on, we took a taxi in the direction of the Veltins Arena, stopping off on the way at the social club for fans of Schalke 04. I’m not sure it was the venue that we’d intended but it had beer, food and televisions showing the Slovenia v Serbia game.
The Schalke social club operated the same system that we’d encountered in the Cologne bar two days earlier, where the beers just kept appearing and a mark was made for each one on a beermat. Maybe nobody shreds the beermats in Germany. I had currywurst for my tea for no better reason than I hadn’t eaten it already on the trip and we settled in to watch ex-Boro loanee Andraz Sporar turn out for Slovenia against Serbia.
A last gasp Serbian goal left the group wide open, and we stayed on to watch England take on Denmark. As was the case all over Germany, there were lots of Scots watching and they celebrated the Danish equaliser as if it were their own team.
The England performance was poor, but four points from the opening two games left qualification in our own hands as we left to catch a tram to the stadium.
The tram initially made good progress but then, with the stadium already having been sighted, we were held at a stop for longer than seemed necessary. When the doors opened, we took the decision to get off, despite it being one stop earlier than we could have done. I’d much rather be moving, even if it is under my own steam.
We were delayed a while by Paul’s ticket not being active, but it was soon resolved once we got a phone signal, and we made it through the first stage of security and then into the ground.
Our seats were behind the goal and handy for one of the bars. Whilst regular beer was on sale at the other tournament stadiums, the beer at the Veltins Arena was limited to 2.8%. I can live with that. It’s better than the zero percent Bud that we drank in Qatar and the non-alcoholic beer that used to be the norm at the Euros in the past.
The view wasn’t as good as it could have been with afew of the people in front of us standing and blocking the view. We could see well enough though to recognise that Spain were by far the dominant side and I doubted that Italy would be in Germany for too long.
We’d heard the tales of woe from the previous game at the stadium with England fans having to wait three hours for a tram and with that in mind we legged it ten minutes from time. The tactic worked and we were soon on board and back at the main station almost before game had finished.
And so that was it. Another very enjoyable tournament despite only seeing the one game live. Next up is the World Cup in 2026 where I’ll be looking to add Mexico and Canada to my list of countries where I’ve seen a game.
I’d booked tickets for a couple of days at the Grand National meeting last summer, soon after the football fixtures came out confirming that the Boro had an away game. These days I rarely know what I’ll be doing ten months into the future but sometimes you just have to make your plans and see if they work out.
As it turned out, the Grand National meeting coincided with a few days of public holiday in Saudi Arabia and so I headed back to the UK for a short break. Jen and I broke the journey to Liverpool with an overnight stay in Sheffield for a Paul Weller gig at the City Hall.
He was great, as ever. I’m not overly keen on long gigs, but the twenty-nine-song set flew by. He drew heavily on new stuff, which I’m fine with, playing just the two Jam songs and three from the Style Council days. He could quite easily have played an entirely different twenty-nine songs from his back-catalogue with no drop in quality. Who else could do that? Could McCartney get away with just two Beatles songs and three from Wings? And if he did, could he swap out the entire rest of the set for twenty-four different solo songs to those he usually plays? I doubt it.
It was amusing, as ever, to see all the old blokes dressed as Weller, or even better, with their Weller haircuts. Dressing like Weller is fine as most of the stuff that he wears is more than decent clobber. But don’t do it at one of his gigs, fellas, you’re not cosplaying at a Star Trek convention. Save it for popping out to Aldi.
Next morning we drove across Snake Pass to our hotel in Chester. I picked it because it was a reasonably easy journey by train to the racecourse. The hotel looked ok from the outside, but it was one of those places that caters primarily for coach tours and so wasn’t up to much. I felt sorry for all those American tourists calling in there between Loch Ness and Stonehenge.
After dropping off our bags we caught the train to Aintree. It soon filled up with smartly dressed young people pre-gaming on Echo Falls rose. Our tickets were for the Princess Royal Roof, which is somewhere that Paul and I had watched the National from back in 2008. It seemed a lot busier on this occasion, despite it costing over a hundred quid and it not even being Grand National day.
It was Ladies Day and so a certain amount of dressing up went on. I’d been expecting to see some Peaky Blinder blokes, but that fashion seems to have slipped into the past. There was a good atmosphere about the place although the next day I read reports that some fighting had gone on.
The drinks were expensive. Maybe I’m getting out of touch, but over twenty quid for a pint of Worthingtons, a can of wine and a lemonade mixer struck me as outrageous. As did the scrum to get served. We switched to champagne at eighty-five quid a bottle from a dedicated bar instead, which didn’t seem too bad in comparison to the individual drinks, and I could buy it without having to stick my elbows out.
With just the one winner all day I avoided the scrum at the pay-out counters too.
After the Ireland trip, Jen and I took the ferry back to Holyhead and then the train to Manchester. We stayed overnight so that we could go to the Sea Power gig at the Albert Hall. It’s a great venue and, as always, they put on a decent show.
Next morning we travelled on the TransPennine Express to Thornaby. That’s a grand sounding name for what is a fairly mundane train. It was on time though and we had seats so they can call it whatever they like.
We were back early enough for Harry and I to get to the Boro game. Alistair missed out as he was at a party somewhere and as I didn’t have a car, we were happy to accept a lift from Tom. That meant a bonus couple of pre-match pints for me at the fanzone bar.
The game didn’t go well. Bristol City scored early on and then added a second within a minute. We looked as if we’d pulled one back with ten minutes to go, but it was ruled offside. An added time consolation from Sammy Silvera wasn’t actually much consolation at all.
The defeat left us in twelfth place, only four points off the play-offs, but with a lot of other teams better placed. That’s likely to be my last Boro game of the season and it looks pretty nailed on that we’ll be in the Championship again next year.
Trail of the Lion King 