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Feb. 4th, 2007 10:00 pmTo the girls' Invitation Cup second round tie, away to Bournemouth Reserves. After the train journey, at Bournemouth travel interchange, I boarded the bus to the airport as soon as it arrived, bought my ticket from the driver and sat down. At this point, to my surprise (it was already just after the bus's scheduled departure time), the driver got up, left the bus and headed for the Gents in the bus station. I was reminded of a visit to Bournemouth in December 2003, when the driver of the bus I was travelling on actually stopped the bus at a stop in the town centre just so he could go to a public loo. Either it was the same driver, or toilet stops while on the job are an accepted practice among Bournemouth bus drivers.
It was a long walk from the airport to Bournemouth Sports Club. Arrived at 11.48, sat around till noon waiting for the bar to open, bought a Rhino (the Red Bull-esque drink they sell) and was kept waiting half an hour for my order of sausage and chips.
Bournemouth put up strong resistance in the first half, but Chantelle and Sam scored beautiful goals to give us a 2-0 lead. After the break, once Chantelle had blasted our third the floodgates opened and we ran out 7-0 winners.
In the clubhouse after, I sat down at a table with Rob, Sabrina, Lucy and Liz just as Sabrina was telling the others about her forthcoming holiday. As I sat, Sabrina asked me "Do you want to come on holiday with me?"
"I'd love to, but I'm skint," I grinned. Sabrina seemed unusually put out, so I wondered if something had been lost in translation. When Liz asked me "Did you say skint, or skiing?" I confirmed it was skint. Sabrina too had thought I'd said skiing. Can't quite see myself on the piste...
The girls departed, carload by carload, leaving me alone with my Forty-Niner to watch the end of the Wales v Ireland rugby.
The walk to the Sports Club from the airport had taken me just over a quarter of an hour, so I allowed myself 20 minutes for the return trek. Alas, a glance at my watch on arrival at the airport told me I'd somehow managed to walk it a lot slower this time and miss my bus. No problem, I thought, a couple of hours' relaxation in the airport before catching the next bus... The timetable on the bus stop brought home the awful truth: that 5.10 pm bus I'd missed had been the last. I had no option but to do the last £9 I had on me on a taxi to the station.
At Southampton, the replacement bus to Fareham was sitting outside the station when I stepped off the train. It was also full. I and a dozen others were left standing among spilled drinks and debris on the pavement in front of the station, awaiting word from the station staff, one of whom eventually told us "The Station Manager hasn't got the guts to face you himself, he's sent me out to tell you, you'll have to catch the 19.35 stopping service to Swanwick and get a bus from there."
So we all cram on to a slow train to Swanwick. There, three dozen of us in all pour off the train and out to the gloomy station forecourt to await a replacement bus. Thankfully the bus shows up a few minutes later and we arrive safely in Fareham just after 8.30. Walk down to the bus station, sprint up just in time to catch bus to Gosport, arrive home four and a half hours after leaving Bournemouth.
Notes to self: 1) learn to drive, 2) win lottery, 3) buy car.
My new watch, alas, does not fit me. It has one of those snap-lock metal straps so you can't vary the length. It is too large for my wrist, but though I've been wearing it further up my arm, all day it's been sliding down to hang loosely around my wrist. If I put it far enough up my arm to stop it slipping, I get an uncomfortable pinch. So back to the old cheap French watch tomorrow.
It was a long walk from the airport to Bournemouth Sports Club. Arrived at 11.48, sat around till noon waiting for the bar to open, bought a Rhino (the Red Bull-esque drink they sell) and was kept waiting half an hour for my order of sausage and chips.
Bournemouth put up strong resistance in the first half, but Chantelle and Sam scored beautiful goals to give us a 2-0 lead. After the break, once Chantelle had blasted our third the floodgates opened and we ran out 7-0 winners.
In the clubhouse after, I sat down at a table with Rob, Sabrina, Lucy and Liz just as Sabrina was telling the others about her forthcoming holiday. As I sat, Sabrina asked me "Do you want to come on holiday with me?"
"I'd love to, but I'm skint," I grinned. Sabrina seemed unusually put out, so I wondered if something had been lost in translation. When Liz asked me "Did you say skint, or skiing?" I confirmed it was skint. Sabrina too had thought I'd said skiing. Can't quite see myself on the piste...
The girls departed, carload by carload, leaving me alone with my Forty-Niner to watch the end of the Wales v Ireland rugby.
The walk to the Sports Club from the airport had taken me just over a quarter of an hour, so I allowed myself 20 minutes for the return trek. Alas, a glance at my watch on arrival at the airport told me I'd somehow managed to walk it a lot slower this time and miss my bus. No problem, I thought, a couple of hours' relaxation in the airport before catching the next bus... The timetable on the bus stop brought home the awful truth: that 5.10 pm bus I'd missed had been the last. I had no option but to do the last £9 I had on me on a taxi to the station.
At Southampton, the replacement bus to Fareham was sitting outside the station when I stepped off the train. It was also full. I and a dozen others were left standing among spilled drinks and debris on the pavement in front of the station, awaiting word from the station staff, one of whom eventually told us "The Station Manager hasn't got the guts to face you himself, he's sent me out to tell you, you'll have to catch the 19.35 stopping service to Swanwick and get a bus from there."
So we all cram on to a slow train to Swanwick. There, three dozen of us in all pour off the train and out to the gloomy station forecourt to await a replacement bus. Thankfully the bus shows up a few minutes later and we arrive safely in Fareham just after 8.30. Walk down to the bus station, sprint up just in time to catch bus to Gosport, arrive home four and a half hours after leaving Bournemouth.
Notes to self: 1) learn to drive, 2) win lottery, 3) buy car.
My new watch, alas, does not fit me. It has one of those snap-lock metal straps so you can't vary the length. It is too large for my wrist, but though I've been wearing it further up my arm, all day it's been sliding down to hang loosely around my wrist. If I put it far enough up my arm to stop it slipping, I get an uncomfortable pinch. So back to the old cheap French watch tomorrow.
