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Lost Weekend
Nov. 16th, 2014 08:48 pmLuton at home to Tranmere yesterday. On the bus there I got a phone call from my mobile phone network offering me a discount on switching to pay monthly. The call dragged on, partly because the bus noise meant I had to keep asking the lady to repeat things, and also because she just had a hell of a big script to read and a fair few questions to ask. She was still going strong when the bus arrived in Luton so I had to duck into the foyer of a gym next to the bus stop to carry on the conversation.
After all that rigmarole I had a hell of a time getting my bearings and finding the way to Kenilworth Road. So it was 2.15 when I finally got to the Beech Hill Con Club and there was a lengthy queue for the bar. Before long, a bloke appeared to be cutting in front of me, so I just said "Excuse me, I am in the drinks queue. Sorry." Perfectly polite - but he went ballistic. He went into a rant about how he wasn't cutting into the drinks queue but was going to the food table, and made a great issue of how he was a member of the club (clearly he resented the fortnightly influx of football fans that the club allows in for £1 on matchdays). Later he came back and gave me another mouthful. After I'd got served, I heard him at a table not too far away swearing and ranting about something, so this guy had clearly already been extremely radged off for some reason and my apparently accusing him of queue-jumping was the last straw. But there is still no need for that kind of behaviour.
Drinking morosely, I thought to myself "Bet we bloody lose and all now", but we ground out a dull 1-0 win, the goal a curler from young Ricky Miller that seemed to go into the net in slo-mo.
Back at the Galaxy Centre, waiting for the bus back to Leighton, a dysfunctional couple were loudly arguing about cigarettes, lighters and him allegedly cheating on her. The bus was over 10 minutes late and then when it did arrive on the road just before the high street it broke down, all of which meant I missed my connecting bus home. Went into the Black Lion to pass the hour until the next (and last) bus with a swift exotic foreign beer. Left the pub two minutes before the bus was due. After eight minutes waiting I asked two young men in the bus shelter, who said my bus had been and gone early. Unable to afford a taxi home I had no option but to walk the entire three miles. Made straight for the bar of the Axe and Compass on arriving there, but stuck to a couple of J2Os with my blood pressure review coming up, then slunk off home. Managed to have a brief phone chat with Katherine.
This morning I'd intended to write to Arriva Buses anyway, since yesterday the driver at Luton had refused to give me the usual discount - travelling for child fare on a matchday on production of my LTFC season ticket - on the grounds, new on me, that that discount only applied to journeys contained entirely within the Borough of Luton. I wrote enclosing my ticket and requesting a refund of the difference - then added about the late and broken down buses and asked about compensation under the Customer Charter since the delay put an hour on my journey (even before the one that came and went early is taken into consideration). That little job out of the way, it was time for Carry On Cowboy on ITV.
This afternoon was supposed to have been the Classic Retro Countdown of this week in 1980 on Atlantic Oldies, but halfway through the show the station fell dead silent. And stayed silent for half an hour, the whole of Part 3 simply left out, before Part 4 started up as normal at its appointed time. It turned out the station had been supplied with a faulty file. So I have to take a kick in the flex and knock off early on Thursday to get home for the repeat.
Radged off with the world thanks to the malfunctioning radio file, Mr Shitbag and the errant buses, I switched off the online radio and stomped down to the Axe for a slightly earlier than planned roast turkey. A couple of the regulars who'd talked to me before at least listened to my troubles, and the turkey was excellent - and they've now got Christmas pudding on the dessert menu and it was delicious.
Back home to the ironing. What fun. Thank goodness for a great chart from this week in 1978 on Mixcloud to get it done to.
After all that rigmarole I had a hell of a time getting my bearings and finding the way to Kenilworth Road. So it was 2.15 when I finally got to the Beech Hill Con Club and there was a lengthy queue for the bar. Before long, a bloke appeared to be cutting in front of me, so I just said "Excuse me, I am in the drinks queue. Sorry." Perfectly polite - but he went ballistic. He went into a rant about how he wasn't cutting into the drinks queue but was going to the food table, and made a great issue of how he was a member of the club (clearly he resented the fortnightly influx of football fans that the club allows in for £1 on matchdays). Later he came back and gave me another mouthful. After I'd got served, I heard him at a table not too far away swearing and ranting about something, so this guy had clearly already been extremely radged off for some reason and my apparently accusing him of queue-jumping was the last straw. But there is still no need for that kind of behaviour.
Drinking morosely, I thought to myself "Bet we bloody lose and all now", but we ground out a dull 1-0 win, the goal a curler from young Ricky Miller that seemed to go into the net in slo-mo.
Back at the Galaxy Centre, waiting for the bus back to Leighton, a dysfunctional couple were loudly arguing about cigarettes, lighters and him allegedly cheating on her. The bus was over 10 minutes late and then when it did arrive on the road just before the high street it broke down, all of which meant I missed my connecting bus home. Went into the Black Lion to pass the hour until the next (and last) bus with a swift exotic foreign beer. Left the pub two minutes before the bus was due. After eight minutes waiting I asked two young men in the bus shelter, who said my bus had been and gone early. Unable to afford a taxi home I had no option but to walk the entire three miles. Made straight for the bar of the Axe and Compass on arriving there, but stuck to a couple of J2Os with my blood pressure review coming up, then slunk off home. Managed to have a brief phone chat with Katherine.
This morning I'd intended to write to Arriva Buses anyway, since yesterday the driver at Luton had refused to give me the usual discount - travelling for child fare on a matchday on production of my LTFC season ticket - on the grounds, new on me, that that discount only applied to journeys contained entirely within the Borough of Luton. I wrote enclosing my ticket and requesting a refund of the difference - then added about the late and broken down buses and asked about compensation under the Customer Charter since the delay put an hour on my journey (even before the one that came and went early is taken into consideration). That little job out of the way, it was time for Carry On Cowboy on ITV.
This afternoon was supposed to have been the Classic Retro Countdown of this week in 1980 on Atlantic Oldies, but halfway through the show the station fell dead silent. And stayed silent for half an hour, the whole of Part 3 simply left out, before Part 4 started up as normal at its appointed time. It turned out the station had been supplied with a faulty file. So I have to take a kick in the flex and knock off early on Thursday to get home for the repeat.
Radged off with the world thanks to the malfunctioning radio file, Mr Shitbag and the errant buses, I switched off the online radio and stomped down to the Axe for a slightly earlier than planned roast turkey. A couple of the regulars who'd talked to me before at least listened to my troubles, and the turkey was excellent - and they've now got Christmas pudding on the dessert menu and it was delicious.
Back home to the ironing. What fun. Thank goodness for a great chart from this week in 1978 on Mixcloud to get it done to.
