Home Awayday (A lager saga)

for Charles Reynolds

4.50 am. Ely railway station. Black grave-silent fen-night,
My shoes clanging across frigid concrete.
This is the life! Director's box ticket, hospitality
And a London to Ashton Gate stretch limo bus
Waiting a mere three hours of darkness away
In the guards-van of human progress: the Ely via
Peterborough to Potters Bar express
(A train which delivers mail, papers, milk and the occasional Hogwarts wizard
To Chatteris, Whittlesea, Styx, Acheron, Charon and Dis and all stations in between.)
815 am. Cockfosters. I board a luxury mobile funeral parlour
Cum black-cushioned brothel cum silent cinema screening Black Christmas 2
Stocked with every liquor under the fluorescent sun,
And all the curry twiglets you could wish for.
I meet Big Dave, Leyton's answer to Knowle West
Already shouting his way through the lager,
"In Bristol they calls me a cockney,
In Lunnun they calls me a WoRzul, I can't fackin' win")
I blink my way through an evil-sized barrel of nuts
To line my stomach against my first Grolsch at 9 am.
11 am. Eastville. Chris lifts a sun-blasted corner of the blackout.
"Can anyone smell GAS?"
"STAND UP if you 'ate the Gas, STAND UP If you 'ate the Gas, STAND UP!"
But so many expats have boarded along the M4 corridor that no-one can.
Mick's entry at Reading, to the Welsh anthem at full volume
And a male voice chorus of "Sit down you Welsh bastaRd"
Before he'd even got his first Guinness open
Added the final crush to the male bonding
And explains why Dave and Chris are having accidental homosexual sex
In one corner and I have one arm round "Silent" Graham
And the other plunged deep into my own trousers.
(I won't mention the inevitable Parisienne on board
Like a fleur de lis among blackthorns
Because that sort of thing only happens in real life.)
We sweep thus down Winterstoke Road,
In a polaroid of river and brilliant sunshine,
To take five celebrity spaces of the reserved car parking in one go
"We're gonna buy the club, we're gonna buy the club,
Now you gotta believe us, now you gotta believe us! Now you gotta believe us!
WE'RE GONNA BUY THE CLUB!!"
12 noon. The Parisienne poses for the cameras in the dressing room
In Tommy Doherty's shirt, doubtless giving the Brighton defence
A whiff of Chanel to track him by throughout the game.
I perform "It's Just Like Watching Bristle" in the Trophy room (the shelf not exactly as cramped as the bus was)
In honour of Charles, whose match-sponsoring 50th birthday it is,
("He's big, he's Round, he's worf a million pound,
ChaRlie RR, Charrlie RR!")
Improvising a couplet about Paul Cheesely, who is there.


Gareth live at Ashton Gate seen here with City legends Paul Cheesely and John Galley

1.30 pm- 3.37 pm. A classy Duck orange celebrity four course
Aggravated by lager and hovering HTV cameras
Lull us all into a false sense of security
Bobby Zamora shatters in the 37th minute....
4.52 pm. None of us blame Brighton for beating us: We were crap, and what's worse
-With one or two noble exceptions- (Tommy Doherty and the goalkeeper)
We didn't even try. When our party is asked to name Man of the Match, Dave suggestsSteve Jones, who went off injured after 2 minutes.
5.40 pm. I perform "It's Just Like Watching Bristle" again
To a room of drunks in blazers, and John Galley.
I thank him 95 times for what he did for us in the late 60s,
Once for each one of his goals.
6.00 pm. Life goes on - the going home champagne, Guinness and lager
Isn't as flat as you might expect - and there's a giant burger and chips
At Reading Services. ("The Bard has got a Whopper! The Bard has got a Whopper!") in between serenading A triple busload of blue-striped Brighton fans
With their own song, "When the ball hits the goal, it's not Shearer or Cole, it's - Zamora...."
And, as they fail drunkenly to make 0-1 signs with their fingers,
"YORE supposed to, YORE supposed to, YORE supposed to be AWAY!...."
8.40pm. "The first thing I'm gonna do when I get 'ome is rip off my wife's knickers"
Roars Dave.... "they're fackin' killing me!"
9pm. The Bright Cider Life website the next day
Describes "the Bard of Bristol venturing forth into the North London night
Having to reach Peterborough before curfew
Clutching a six pack of Stella for comfort. I hope he made it."
11.00 pm. The Bard reaches Cambridge railway station, having Herewarded the Fens
On three forgotten train routes without one valid ticket.
Midnight. The Bard watches Des's Premiership from a sofa in Ely
Between blackouts. The red-shirted side is playing football.