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Oct. 22nd, 2006 08:04 pm
Went to see Hawks Ladies at Christchurch. When I got off the train it was chucking it down with rain, but a taxi was outside my budget, so I bravely set off on the three-mile walk to the ground. My HWFC baseball cap spared me the worst that the rain had to offer, but after about a mile I was deeply conscious of my jacket and trousers being wet through. Eventually - after a walk more like four miles than the three stated in the Non-League Directory, that took me well out of town, along large stretches of road where there was nothing to be seen but grass on either side, into the village of Hurn which was horse country - I rolled up, dripping wet, into the clubhouse of Christchurch FC...only for the barman to tell me the match had been moved to Bournemouth Sports Club.
So I turned back to the roundabout, and promptly took a wrong turning that saw me walk back along the way I'd come for some ten minutes. Absolutely saturated, I strolled determinedly back up to the roundabout and down the correct road towards Bournemouth Airport. Along that stretch, I lost count of the number of cars that whizzed past at top speed in the wet inside channel of the road and drenched my trousers further.
When I reached the airport after walking over a mile, it was 1.56, four minutes to kick-off, and Bournemouth Sports Club wasn't anywhere in sight. Resignedly, I headed for the airport taxi rank and spent my food money on a taxi to the Club.
There were loads of football pitches there, but I didn't see a team in the white shirts of the Hawks. I took cover from the rain in the clubhouse and phoned Lisa. She handed me over to Trevor who told me to cross the cricket pitch and that I'd find their game behind the sightscreens. When I got there, I heard the sounds of women's football being played, but was separated from them by trees, bushes and a stream. After a couple of minutes searching I found a wooden crossing, crossed over to a couple of rugby pitches, saw the women's football match in the distance and squelched there across the muddy field.
I'd only missed the opening nine minutes and the score was still 0-0. Said hello to Trevor, then went to talk to Lisa. I told her I'd walked six miles in the rain to get there and didn't really fancy repeating the experience on the return trip, and asked if she could arrange me a lift to Fareham. She, bless her, immediately said I could come home on the minibus which carried her, Rob and eight of the players. It continued to piss down all game; Trevor allowed me to watch the match with him, Rob and toddler Brannan from under his large umbrella.
The pitch was a pudding, so it wasn't a day for pretty football, but Hawks won 6-0 with two goals each from Chantelle and Sam and one apiece from Jenna D and Lucy. Late in the second half Jenna D tried a nifty little ball-stopping move, but mistimed it and went flat on her arse in the mud. "Got to be Dick of the Day," said Ollie, and Rob and Lisa yelled at her "That's a Dick nomination!" It turned out that after every game the players vote for 'Man of the Match' and 'Dick of the Day', and the Dick has to wear a dress at the next training session. Trevor told me to assemble with the official club party at Westleigh for future away games, and for £5 a time I'd be allowed to travel on the minibus.
After the girls had had their showers, we drove to, ironically, Christchurch FC, where sausage and chips was to be laid on for us all. Rob put on a CD whose first track was a dance version of Tracy Chapman's Fast Car - one girl said "They've totally killed a good song," but some others had a disco in the aisle between the seats. When we arrived, we sat watching Reading v Arsenal for about a quarter of an hour. While Rob was at the bar he offered me a drink; to my delight, they had a real ale called Old Thumper - first class.
When the sausage and chips arrived, thank goodness the non-playing members of the Hawks party, myself included, were also invited to partake. There was salt, vinegar and tomato sauce too. When I'd finished Sabrina said to me "You enjoyed that." "Too right," I replied, "I haven't had anything since breakfast." Sabrina topped that by saying she hadn't eaten all day. Jade came over to chat for a while, then the call came to get back on the bus.
We stopped at a garage before too long to refill the tank. One of the girls declared the outside loo at the back of the garage to be too disgusting for use, but Michelle and I were both desperate enough to use it anyway. Setting aside my bus fare home from Fareham, I also had just enough cash for a bar of chocolate so indulged in a peanut chunky Kit Kat.
The girls asked for Radio 1's Top 40 show to be put on and spent the rest of the journey loudly singing along to Shakira, The Killers and the rest. Rob dropped me in Fareham town; I exchanged fond goodbyes with him, Lisa and the lasses and walked to the bus station where there was an 86 just ready to go.
Home to change into dry clothes and get a hot dinner and coffee.
So I turned back to the roundabout, and promptly took a wrong turning that saw me walk back along the way I'd come for some ten minutes. Absolutely saturated, I strolled determinedly back up to the roundabout and down the correct road towards Bournemouth Airport. Along that stretch, I lost count of the number of cars that whizzed past at top speed in the wet inside channel of the road and drenched my trousers further.
When I reached the airport after walking over a mile, it was 1.56, four minutes to kick-off, and Bournemouth Sports Club wasn't anywhere in sight. Resignedly, I headed for the airport taxi rank and spent my food money on a taxi to the Club.
There were loads of football pitches there, but I didn't see a team in the white shirts of the Hawks. I took cover from the rain in the clubhouse and phoned Lisa. She handed me over to Trevor who told me to cross the cricket pitch and that I'd find their game behind the sightscreens. When I got there, I heard the sounds of women's football being played, but was separated from them by trees, bushes and a stream. After a couple of minutes searching I found a wooden crossing, crossed over to a couple of rugby pitches, saw the women's football match in the distance and squelched there across the muddy field.
I'd only missed the opening nine minutes and the score was still 0-0. Said hello to Trevor, then went to talk to Lisa. I told her I'd walked six miles in the rain to get there and didn't really fancy repeating the experience on the return trip, and asked if she could arrange me a lift to Fareham. She, bless her, immediately said I could come home on the minibus which carried her, Rob and eight of the players. It continued to piss down all game; Trevor allowed me to watch the match with him, Rob and toddler Brannan from under his large umbrella.
The pitch was a pudding, so it wasn't a day for pretty football, but Hawks won 6-0 with two goals each from Chantelle and Sam and one apiece from Jenna D and Lucy. Late in the second half Jenna D tried a nifty little ball-stopping move, but mistimed it and went flat on her arse in the mud. "Got to be Dick of the Day," said Ollie, and Rob and Lisa yelled at her "That's a Dick nomination!" It turned out that after every game the players vote for 'Man of the Match' and 'Dick of the Day', and the Dick has to wear a dress at the next training session. Trevor told me to assemble with the official club party at Westleigh for future away games, and for £5 a time I'd be allowed to travel on the minibus.
After the girls had had their showers, we drove to, ironically, Christchurch FC, where sausage and chips was to be laid on for us all. Rob put on a CD whose first track was a dance version of Tracy Chapman's Fast Car - one girl said "They've totally killed a good song," but some others had a disco in the aisle between the seats. When we arrived, we sat watching Reading v Arsenal for about a quarter of an hour. While Rob was at the bar he offered me a drink; to my delight, they had a real ale called Old Thumper - first class.
When the sausage and chips arrived, thank goodness the non-playing members of the Hawks party, myself included, were also invited to partake. There was salt, vinegar and tomato sauce too. When I'd finished Sabrina said to me "You enjoyed that." "Too right," I replied, "I haven't had anything since breakfast." Sabrina topped that by saying she hadn't eaten all day. Jade came over to chat for a while, then the call came to get back on the bus.
We stopped at a garage before too long to refill the tank. One of the girls declared the outside loo at the back of the garage to be too disgusting for use, but Michelle and I were both desperate enough to use it anyway. Setting aside my bus fare home from Fareham, I also had just enough cash for a bar of chocolate so indulged in a peanut chunky Kit Kat.
The girls asked for Radio 1's Top 40 show to be put on and spent the rest of the journey loudly singing along to Shakira, The Killers and the rest. Rob dropped me in Fareham town; I exchanged fond goodbyes with him, Lisa and the lasses and walked to the bus station where there was an 86 just ready to go.
Home to change into dry clothes and get a hot dinner and coffee.
