![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Travellin' Man
Sep. 26th, 2021 08:02 pmTo Leicester at the beginning of the week to meet up with Jill and Steph for the 3rd England v New Zealand women's cricket one day international. I'd been having a gout attack since Friday so submitted an e-consult on Monday morning requesting Naproxen. The surgery rang when I was on the National Express coach. Happily, the lady from the surgery agreed to arrange for me to collect my prescription from a pharmacy in Leicester.
So on getting off the bus, I walked back to the big Tesco where my chosen pharmacy was (we'd passed it on the way to the bus station). My Naproxen were there and I walked over to the Holiday Inn. After having fun and games finding the pedestrian entrance, I went to check in - but the reception lady said she had no record of my booking. After she'd double-checked, I showed her my booking on booking.com on my phone. The penny dropped.
"You're at the wrong hotel. This is the Holiday Inn Express."
I asked her whether that was far.
"It's out by the King Power Stadium. Are you driving?"
"On foot."
She said it would be about half an hour's walk. I asked if there was a taxi rank nearby and she told me where there was a taxi office.
Finally at the right Holiday Inn, spent the evening watching telly and feasting on chicken and chips from one of the takeaways with which the hotel has a delivery service.
Had arranged to meet Jill and Steph at 11am on Tuesday. Got to the aptly named Cricketers pub close by the cricket ground but was dismayed to see they didn't open until 12 noon. I found a little cafe within walking distance and messaged the girls to let them know I was there. It wasn't long before they arrived and we chatted over a coffee till just before noon then made our way to the ground.
We found a place to sit with a decent view of the pitch then headed over to the beer tent. I went for a Kingstone Press cider. Jill, with her crush on Sophie Devine, and I, with my admiration of Amy Satterthwaite, had decided to support the tourists today; Steph, wearing her England shirt, was staying loyal to the Old Country. We passed a pleasant day mostly talking about our sporting crushes, with a few reminiscences about past women's sport travels thrown in, as we watched an exciting game go right down to the wire with New Zealand doing just enough to get the win. During the early session Ste, another ex-Lady Pies fan, commented on my Facebook to say he was also there and I wandered round to say a quick hello. Jill and Steph were heartbroken that England's no. 11 Tash Farrant perished leaving Katherine Brunt stranded on 49 not out.
We weren't impressed with Sky's selection of Maddy Green as player of the match; magnificent though her innings was, we thought Lea Tahuhu's five-wicket haul was worthy of the honour. "They always choose bat over ball," Steph said scathingly.
We went on to the Cricketers, where the cheerful landlady, who was celebrating her birthday, agreed to put the second half of the Luxembourg v England women's football match on. We had a couple of drinks and cheered as the goals rained in. The landlady and the barman offered us leftover rolls (or cobs as they call them in those parts) and slices of birthday cake, which all went down very well. Jill and Steph told two guys standing at the bar that I was a groundhopper; they said they were Lincoln City fans and asked me about my travels.
The girls and I shared a cab home. The driver wanted to charge extra mileage to drop me at the Holiday Inn on the way to the girls' place; Steph wasn't amused because she said the hotel was directly on the way, and she gave him pelters from then on. We managed to say goodbyes of sorts when he stopped to drop me off, and Steph messaged me next morning to wish me safe journey.
Friday night Jade and I went to the Queen's Head to see Parallel Lines, a Blondie-covers-and-other-80s-hits band. I'd heard about them through my cousin's daughter India, as lead singer Trisha is the stepmother of India's partner Lucy. We arrived in good time, and before the start of the band's set India and Lucy came up to us and we went over to sit at their table at the front. The band were superb. Early in the set, to my delight, they did the Pretenders' Don't Get Me Wrong, and they finished the first half with the Primitives' Crash. By the end of the evening everyone was dancing.
London yesterday for Clapton Community v NW London FC. David was outside the ground and said "Good to see you again" after I'd missed the last two weeks' away games. Doug on the front table recognised me and we had a quick chat. Things took a surreal turn when the merchandise guy asked if my replica shirt was a 4XL. I said it was a 3XL. He asked if I'd give it up for 'Briggsy', promising me a brand new one when the new shipment came in. I was bemused, thinking he must have just promised a shirt to a fan and needed mine to avoid letting him down, but I surrendered my shirt. I asked if I could borrow one of the CCFC scarves from his merchandise stall so I would still be wearing my colours; he seemed put out but let me have a scarf.
The Brigata Ultra Clapton were in full voice throughout the game; I ended up hoarse from the singing marathon. Several of the guys took turns at waving the BUC flags to keep them fluttering constantly. After a couple of our goals, one of the guys let pyro off. It was a real taste of Italian ultra culture in the East End. CCFC won a lively exciting game 5-2. In the second half, when a substitute was coming on, one of the Brigata said "There's Briggsy". The penny dropped. The newly-introduced substitute was wearing a numberless shirt. Mine. Had a decent game too.
At the final whistle, I went over to the merchandise guy and said I hadn't realised my shirt was wanted for a player, and that I was glad to have been of help. He thanked me and again promised me a new shirt when they arrive.
Back at Waterloo, when I sat down on the train, a) as I tried to free the loop of my mask the frame of my distance specs broke and a lens fell out (thankfully still in one piece), and simultaneously b) the inside thigh seam of my trousers split from bum to breakfast time. Not happy.
So on getting off the bus, I walked back to the big Tesco where my chosen pharmacy was (we'd passed it on the way to the bus station). My Naproxen were there and I walked over to the Holiday Inn. After having fun and games finding the pedestrian entrance, I went to check in - but the reception lady said she had no record of my booking. After she'd double-checked, I showed her my booking on booking.com on my phone. The penny dropped.
"You're at the wrong hotel. This is the Holiday Inn Express."
I asked her whether that was far.
"It's out by the King Power Stadium. Are you driving?"
"On foot."
She said it would be about half an hour's walk. I asked if there was a taxi rank nearby and she told me where there was a taxi office.
Finally at the right Holiday Inn, spent the evening watching telly and feasting on chicken and chips from one of the takeaways with which the hotel has a delivery service.
Had arranged to meet Jill and Steph at 11am on Tuesday. Got to the aptly named Cricketers pub close by the cricket ground but was dismayed to see they didn't open until 12 noon. I found a little cafe within walking distance and messaged the girls to let them know I was there. It wasn't long before they arrived and we chatted over a coffee till just before noon then made our way to the ground.
We found a place to sit with a decent view of the pitch then headed over to the beer tent. I went for a Kingstone Press cider. Jill, with her crush on Sophie Devine, and I, with my admiration of Amy Satterthwaite, had decided to support the tourists today; Steph, wearing her England shirt, was staying loyal to the Old Country. We passed a pleasant day mostly talking about our sporting crushes, with a few reminiscences about past women's sport travels thrown in, as we watched an exciting game go right down to the wire with New Zealand doing just enough to get the win. During the early session Ste, another ex-Lady Pies fan, commented on my Facebook to say he was also there and I wandered round to say a quick hello. Jill and Steph were heartbroken that England's no. 11 Tash Farrant perished leaving Katherine Brunt stranded on 49 not out.
We weren't impressed with Sky's selection of Maddy Green as player of the match; magnificent though her innings was, we thought Lea Tahuhu's five-wicket haul was worthy of the honour. "They always choose bat over ball," Steph said scathingly.
We went on to the Cricketers, where the cheerful landlady, who was celebrating her birthday, agreed to put the second half of the Luxembourg v England women's football match on. We had a couple of drinks and cheered as the goals rained in. The landlady and the barman offered us leftover rolls (or cobs as they call them in those parts) and slices of birthday cake, which all went down very well. Jill and Steph told two guys standing at the bar that I was a groundhopper; they said they were Lincoln City fans and asked me about my travels.
The girls and I shared a cab home. The driver wanted to charge extra mileage to drop me at the Holiday Inn on the way to the girls' place; Steph wasn't amused because she said the hotel was directly on the way, and she gave him pelters from then on. We managed to say goodbyes of sorts when he stopped to drop me off, and Steph messaged me next morning to wish me safe journey.
Friday night Jade and I went to the Queen's Head to see Parallel Lines, a Blondie-covers-and-other-80s-hits band. I'd heard about them through my cousin's daughter India, as lead singer Trisha is the stepmother of India's partner Lucy. We arrived in good time, and before the start of the band's set India and Lucy came up to us and we went over to sit at their table at the front. The band were superb. Early in the set, to my delight, they did the Pretenders' Don't Get Me Wrong, and they finished the first half with the Primitives' Crash. By the end of the evening everyone was dancing.
London yesterday for Clapton Community v NW London FC. David was outside the ground and said "Good to see you again" after I'd missed the last two weeks' away games. Doug on the front table recognised me and we had a quick chat. Things took a surreal turn when the merchandise guy asked if my replica shirt was a 4XL. I said it was a 3XL. He asked if I'd give it up for 'Briggsy', promising me a brand new one when the new shipment came in. I was bemused, thinking he must have just promised a shirt to a fan and needed mine to avoid letting him down, but I surrendered my shirt. I asked if I could borrow one of the CCFC scarves from his merchandise stall so I would still be wearing my colours; he seemed put out but let me have a scarf.
The Brigata Ultra Clapton were in full voice throughout the game; I ended up hoarse from the singing marathon. Several of the guys took turns at waving the BUC flags to keep them fluttering constantly. After a couple of our goals, one of the guys let pyro off. It was a real taste of Italian ultra culture in the East End. CCFC won a lively exciting game 5-2. In the second half, when a substitute was coming on, one of the Brigata said "There's Briggsy". The penny dropped. The newly-introduced substitute was wearing a numberless shirt. Mine. Had a decent game too.
At the final whistle, I went over to the merchandise guy and said I hadn't realised my shirt was wanted for a player, and that I was glad to have been of help. He thanked me and again promised me a new shirt when they arrive.
Back at Waterloo, when I sat down on the train, a) as I tried to free the loop of my mask the frame of my distance specs broke and a lens fell out (thankfully still in one piece), and simultaneously b) the inside thigh seam of my trousers split from bum to breakfast time. Not happy.
