A very alternative match report
Not the author
By Larry
February 12 2013
A mouse (more of him later) scurried and scuttled between the rails’ hypercaust- style pedestals carrying a ball of fluff, for a nest I supposed, as I waited for the train to take me to the Nirvana of Reading and the weirdly named ‘Mad Stad’. I get it of course the name thing but, if you’re going to give it a nickname, why not the ‘Jet Ski’ or even more outrageous, the ‘Jessium’, if you must create using parts of the nomenclature. I digress – (I do it a lot, but it does little harm).
A knot of us arrived at Paddington and decamped to the Mad Bishop and Bear. Shortly after, Matt Stevens, Chris Wyles and Alistair Hargreaves (Is he the grandson of Jack Hargreaves of ‘Out of Town fame?), with Borthwickesque nose scab, ascended the escalator to the mezzanine. It was pointed out that they should have been on the team bus. No reply of any real note was forthcoming and we all rightly assumed that they had been penalised for indiscretions and infringements and thus been sent to find their own way with only a compass and shilling between them. It was at this time that a Bath supporter from Buckhurst Hill joined us and decided to tell us all about his time at Woodford Rugby Club – he hadn’t ever met Dave! After a few more, late arriving fez souls appeared we headed for the platform.
We missed the 11 0’clock and the next was delayed by the wrong sort of signals on the line. However, in a flash the barriers were opened and we streamed towards the 2nd class and Cattle class trucks at the front of the train. A maul ensued and with a mighty shove we were propelled through the doors and into what can only be described as remarkably good seats. Smoothly pulling out of the station on our 24 minute journey, I noticed a Nintendo DS stuck into the seat back in front of me. We all had one! We could have a LAN party I thought (learnt about them from the kids at school). Some selfish so and so had stolen the blasted controllers though, so that idea was squashed straight away. It turned I was wrong and they were actually ‘Kindles’. On pressing some buttons you were presented with a series of 1970’s sports news items, all bereft of Rugby Union; a screen with squiggles and a moving dot, supposedly our train and a number of book titles. I had 15 minutes left to try and complete Sense and Sensibility, so I forewent (?) that pleasure and instead turned to the poetry on offer. Shakespeare, Coleridge and…. Burns, I was up for a bit of that and thought I can soothe my fellow travellers with a light reading of it. It was thus that I engaged thoughts from earlier in the day and pressed the button for ‘To a Mouse’. Once again there was a slowly moving blue rectangle on the screen but not a lot else apart from a pause button. It was then I discovered someone had nicked the headphones too! Where are the Transport Police? What was more infuriating still was, the words weren’t even displayed. It didn’t stop me reciting though. And Ode to a Moose was well received by some, even if I do say so myself!
Reading at last (the town that is)! What was it John Betjeman said about Slough? At the barrier, I am polite and let the assembled crew precede me. I place my valid ticket in the gate slot – it refuses to open. It swallows my ticket. I hail across the concourse for assistance and a helpful soul with a key arrives stating, ‘It’s being playing up all morning.’ He opens the steel door of the mechanism. ‘Look at all these backed up tickets,’ he pronounces, ‘ I’ll have to shut it down in a minute!’
DO IT NOW! I’m thinking but say nothing but murmur a muted thanks.
Importantly, this is Maggy’s home town. She holds fond memories of it and delighted in pointing out her approved school high on a hill across a caravanlike marina, on entrance to the town. As we shunt through the station doors, she also relates tales of elocution lessons at the BBC in the street opposite. Just love those snippets of everyday life brought to light on match days.
The Three Guineas – a pub that knows how to serve you quickly and politely – highly recommended! I needed a quick one so had an MGA, they didn’t have MGB, although they did have G&T. Others also found appropriate drinks and surprisingly Boonie and Bro, attired in the sartorial elegance of the official Away shirt, blanc avec les rayons gris, settled for ‘Vintage’, a Porter at 4.9%. Talking of clothing, Sue, you know Sue; daughter Rebecca , Short Bloke’s missus – well, she pointed out that she had donated her Adrian Winnan autographed shirt to the pub some years ago. She did say she was chilly at that game, but it was worth it. Andy wanted to get in on the act and displayed his Saracens socks and to cap it all Britt came in with a chum, McNab and Mark and promptly declared she must remove all clothing! The one downside to the pub is that you need to go to the toilets before you need to go to the toilet, so that by the time you reach them you will feel the need. It’s all right if you’re Roger Bannister but otherwise give yourself time to make it.
The bus to the ground was great. Top deck £3.40, discounted to £3 for the day return. On approaching the ground, it appeared as if someone had put up a massive windmill at one end of the pitch. It would have been fair as you obviously change ends after half time. We initially seated ourselves in the allotted seats and a very nice bloke called Terry thought I looked cold and gave me a dram of his 10 yr old Jamesons. Blessings upon him!
A short while later Ed G was spotted standing in an area of the North east terracing. Hands in pockets, no coat, shivering and looking slightly careworn. His demeanour spoke volumes.
Match report. Little to recommend it. I did find that upon needing to dry my hands, the gentlemen’s conveniences proclaimed a dryer that was named, ‘The Florafree Sanitizer’. The one light spot of humour in a game best forgotten. The train home was enlivened by Maggy insisting she sing the Welsh National Anthem to the whole carriage. She had it phonetically scripted and we all were obliged to join in.
On my return the mouse, had disappeared. Perhaps cosy and snug in a bed of fluff. It was reckoned we’d all probably caught pneumonia and one wit said, ’Only thing a Saracen caught all afternoon!’
I need a lie down, or a pint.
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 2013:02:18:12:40:06 by sutton_sarrie.
or
15 Shades of Grey …..and White.
By Rooney aka Dear Larry
Can a Booker prize be far away?
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2013:02:12:11:19:47 by TonyTaff.
Who removed my H.R. Giger picture?
Ps rupes and waldo - I can't believe you young whippersnappers can remember Top Deck shandy. What about Corona limeade or cream soda with the bobbly bottles?
Sorry - digressing again - age I suppose.
Nous sommes l'armée noir et rouge !
or, rather, we're so desperate for authors we'll take any sh|te
It's a long time since Sports network paid anything!
Nous sommes l'armée noir et rouge !
You do yourself a great injustice. I await your report with much anticipation.
It's a major day for pies, pints and rubber crumble. Oh yes and rugby. Bring it on!
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