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We'll Meet Again
Oct. 25th, 2021 09:41 pmOn the morning of Tuesday the 12th I spotted a post on Facebook from Alex the Kirstyfest organiser saying they'd tested positive for Covid. So I went for a test that morning.
Positive. After 18 months of bearing a charmed life, my luck had run out.
Spent the next 10 days self-isolating in my bedroom, in an endless round of classic comedy shows and cricket on TV and reading Michael Simkins' brilliant memoir Fatty Batter. Happily, I got nothing worse than coughs and sneezes.
My first day of freedom - thank you God, thank you Diana-Selene-Hecate, thank you Allah, thank you Buddha, thank you Vishnu - was Saturday, the day of the England v Northern Ireland women's international at Wembley. I set off early, to arrive at lunch time at the Green Man pub where the Football Supporters' Association and the Northern Ireland Supporters' Club were organising a joint fan meet-up.
Got to the Green Man to find the lovely Deb staffing the FSA table. We said fond hellos, and Deb asked when she'd seen me last.
"FC United of Manchester," I replied.
She had some of the cards for kids on her table that I remembered from that game, plus a tub of Celebrations and a tub of Sweet Shop Favourites. At about 1pm Rachel arrived. We observed that it was 23 months since we'd last met - the Lionesses' last game at Wembley. We had a drink together then, not having eaten since breakfast early in the morning, I popped out to the food van in the car park. It was run by a friendly Greek guy and girl. I went for a Chicken Gyros, similar to a chicken kebab except that, it turned out, they put the chips into the pitta with the meat and salad. Very tasty.
Mark arrived just after 2pm. Crystal wasn't too far behind, she was delighted to see me and we hugged and kissed. The four of us sat in a square at the end of a long table drinking and catching up, with Deb occasionally joining the conversation from her table adjacent to us. The rest of the pub was filling up with Northern Ireland fans. Naturally they were a friendly lot, but Rachel was a bit disappointed that they were comfortably outnumbering us. She speculated that the England support might be in JJ Moon's and other bars on Wembley High Street. I said I was glad we were where we were. Ice cold Rekorderlig and good friends - who needed England-supporting strangers in the background?
Ley messaged at 4pm to say she and Debbie had only just got into their hotel room - reception had kept them waiting - so they'd meet us at the ground. At 4.25 Debbie led us all in walking up to the stadium. About two dozen Northern Ireland fans followed us and we were soon walking along to the stadium surrounded by a green-shirted horde singing Northern Ireland songs. Rachel led the five of us in a chant of 'En-ger-land' and the Irish drowned it out with good-natured boos. The Irish did a couple of choruses of "We're gonna win the group" sparking Rachel into leading a riposte of "We are top of the group".
Outside the stadium, suddenly Jill and Steph appeared and said hello to us all. Checking their tickets, they found they were just a couple of seats down from me. Jill and Steph were stunned at the coincidence, as well as at bumping into us after they'd been unable to come and meet us with their train having been delayed. Rachel and Mark waved us goodbye to head for their entrance, and the rest of us filed in through our gate.
Jill got drinks in for us all - still peckish, I chipped in for a Mars Duo for myself - and we drank up and made our way to our seats. Ley and Debbie were already there. They told me more about their hotel farrago, then Crystal introduced me to her two friends who'd made their own way there.
We were on tenterhooks through the first half as England peppered the Irish goal but couldn't get the ball in the net. After the break, Beth Mead came on and it wasn't long before she struck a beautiful volley to break the deadlock. The floodgates opened, Bethany England added a second and Beth Mead completed her hat-trick to give the Lionesses a 4-0 win.
Crystal and Ley said their goodbyes to me in the stadium. Jill, Steph and I walked out together. At the point where we needed to part ways as we were going to different stations, as they'd told me they can't make it to Doncaster next month I said "Merry Christmas, Happy New Year", we agreed to meet at the four nations tournament in February if there's a matchday on a weekend, and they said they'd try and get to Belfast for the return match against Northern Ireland in April. And then I wended on the long journey home.
Set off in darkness first thing yesterday morning for Biggleswade, where Clapton Community Women were playing in the Women's FA Cup. Having got to bed late the night before then had a very bad night, beset by (mostly) bad dreams and constantly waking up, I was half asleep through most of the train ride to Victoria. Alas, there was no time to get a coffee there, nor at King's Cross, before boarding the connecting train to Biggleswade. I was revived by the sight of a dozen other CCFC fans trooping along the platform behind me. Outside the station entrance a couple of the guys said "Wait for the players." Sure enough, it wasn't long before the girls appeared and we all wished them luck, to smiles and waves from them, then we followed on as they walked to the ground. We parted company from the players on the high street, to go for a pre-match snifter in a pub one of the fans recommended, The Golden Pheasant.
I went for a draught Aspall Cyder. A local at the bar asked if we were East Londoners; we confirmed we were, and he said "I'm from Paddington. West London."
"QPR fan?" I asked.
"No, Tottenham. All my family are QPR but I've always been Spurs."
We all headed for the beer garden where the Gravy Ultras put up three of their flags. One of the guys bought me a drink (mixed fruit Kopparberg this time). I milled around chatting to various Tons, a couple of whom were impressed that I'd been at the England Women game the evening before; they raved about Beth Mead.
We walked along to the ground; the route included a street called Sun Street. No-one joined in with my rendition of the Katrina and the Waves chorus although two of the guys seemed amused.
After entering the ground, giving donations to a local hospice (admission was free), we had to go *out* of the ground again to get into the clubhouse. I went for a 7-Up and a packet of nuts. Eddie and David came up and said hello, complimenting me on making the journey from Portsmouth for the game. "Portsmouth to Biggleswade," Eddie said. "Sounds like a Morrissey song."
"Or a Mark Radcliffe and Stuart Maconie programme," I replied. They liked that. Garry, the team photographer, had already given me a shout-out on Twitter for making the trip.
A bit later a fellow fan stood next to me in the Gents said "You're the man who saved Briggsy." I concurred with a smile. He carried on "You saved him from wearing an XL." Fame at last.
My drinking capacity's usually pretty generous: I'm not one to get heady on two ciders. Through the game, though, I was decidedly woozy, from a combination of the lack of sleep, ciders, absence of a reviving coffee, and a lingering post-Covid nasally feeling. I joined in in minor key with the Brigata songs. On the pitch, the Clapton girls had the upper hand over their two divisions higher opponents much of the time. In the second half, Emily Link put Clapton in front with a beautiful strike and the Tons support erupted. A bit later Marta Boiro sent in a looping shot that the officials judged to have just crossed the line. Cue unconfined celebrations in full voice.
The final whistle blew, CCFC had won 2-0, and the players and coaches came over to the fans and walked along in a line high-fiving or shaking hands with us all. This was, honestly, the most joy I'd got out of a club football match since the demise of the Lady Pies. The songs were still ringing out and the girls still celebrating on the pitch in front of the main body of our support when I waved goodbye and moseyed out of the ground to head for the station.
Back to the office today for the first time in nearly a fortnight. Made it through most of the pile awaiting me.
Positive. After 18 months of bearing a charmed life, my luck had run out.
Spent the next 10 days self-isolating in my bedroom, in an endless round of classic comedy shows and cricket on TV and reading Michael Simkins' brilliant memoir Fatty Batter. Happily, I got nothing worse than coughs and sneezes.
My first day of freedom - thank you God, thank you Diana-Selene-Hecate, thank you Allah, thank you Buddha, thank you Vishnu - was Saturday, the day of the England v Northern Ireland women's international at Wembley. I set off early, to arrive at lunch time at the Green Man pub where the Football Supporters' Association and the Northern Ireland Supporters' Club were organising a joint fan meet-up.
Got to the Green Man to find the lovely Deb staffing the FSA table. We said fond hellos, and Deb asked when she'd seen me last.
"FC United of Manchester," I replied.
She had some of the cards for kids on her table that I remembered from that game, plus a tub of Celebrations and a tub of Sweet Shop Favourites. At about 1pm Rachel arrived. We observed that it was 23 months since we'd last met - the Lionesses' last game at Wembley. We had a drink together then, not having eaten since breakfast early in the morning, I popped out to the food van in the car park. It was run by a friendly Greek guy and girl. I went for a Chicken Gyros, similar to a chicken kebab except that, it turned out, they put the chips into the pitta with the meat and salad. Very tasty.
Mark arrived just after 2pm. Crystal wasn't too far behind, she was delighted to see me and we hugged and kissed. The four of us sat in a square at the end of a long table drinking and catching up, with Deb occasionally joining the conversation from her table adjacent to us. The rest of the pub was filling up with Northern Ireland fans. Naturally they were a friendly lot, but Rachel was a bit disappointed that they were comfortably outnumbering us. She speculated that the England support might be in JJ Moon's and other bars on Wembley High Street. I said I was glad we were where we were. Ice cold Rekorderlig and good friends - who needed England-supporting strangers in the background?
Ley messaged at 4pm to say she and Debbie had only just got into their hotel room - reception had kept them waiting - so they'd meet us at the ground. At 4.25 Debbie led us all in walking up to the stadium. About two dozen Northern Ireland fans followed us and we were soon walking along to the stadium surrounded by a green-shirted horde singing Northern Ireland songs. Rachel led the five of us in a chant of 'En-ger-land' and the Irish drowned it out with good-natured boos. The Irish did a couple of choruses of "We're gonna win the group" sparking Rachel into leading a riposte of "We are top of the group".
Outside the stadium, suddenly Jill and Steph appeared and said hello to us all. Checking their tickets, they found they were just a couple of seats down from me. Jill and Steph were stunned at the coincidence, as well as at bumping into us after they'd been unable to come and meet us with their train having been delayed. Rachel and Mark waved us goodbye to head for their entrance, and the rest of us filed in through our gate.
Jill got drinks in for us all - still peckish, I chipped in for a Mars Duo for myself - and we drank up and made our way to our seats. Ley and Debbie were already there. They told me more about their hotel farrago, then Crystal introduced me to her two friends who'd made their own way there.
We were on tenterhooks through the first half as England peppered the Irish goal but couldn't get the ball in the net. After the break, Beth Mead came on and it wasn't long before she struck a beautiful volley to break the deadlock. The floodgates opened, Bethany England added a second and Beth Mead completed her hat-trick to give the Lionesses a 4-0 win.
Crystal and Ley said their goodbyes to me in the stadium. Jill, Steph and I walked out together. At the point where we needed to part ways as we were going to different stations, as they'd told me they can't make it to Doncaster next month I said "Merry Christmas, Happy New Year", we agreed to meet at the four nations tournament in February if there's a matchday on a weekend, and they said they'd try and get to Belfast for the return match against Northern Ireland in April. And then I wended on the long journey home.
Set off in darkness first thing yesterday morning for Biggleswade, where Clapton Community Women were playing in the Women's FA Cup. Having got to bed late the night before then had a very bad night, beset by (mostly) bad dreams and constantly waking up, I was half asleep through most of the train ride to Victoria. Alas, there was no time to get a coffee there, nor at King's Cross, before boarding the connecting train to Biggleswade. I was revived by the sight of a dozen other CCFC fans trooping along the platform behind me. Outside the station entrance a couple of the guys said "Wait for the players." Sure enough, it wasn't long before the girls appeared and we all wished them luck, to smiles and waves from them, then we followed on as they walked to the ground. We parted company from the players on the high street, to go for a pre-match snifter in a pub one of the fans recommended, The Golden Pheasant.
I went for a draught Aspall Cyder. A local at the bar asked if we were East Londoners; we confirmed we were, and he said "I'm from Paddington. West London."
"QPR fan?" I asked.
"No, Tottenham. All my family are QPR but I've always been Spurs."
We all headed for the beer garden where the Gravy Ultras put up three of their flags. One of the guys bought me a drink (mixed fruit Kopparberg this time). I milled around chatting to various Tons, a couple of whom were impressed that I'd been at the England Women game the evening before; they raved about Beth Mead.
We walked along to the ground; the route included a street called Sun Street. No-one joined in with my rendition of the Katrina and the Waves chorus although two of the guys seemed amused.
After entering the ground, giving donations to a local hospice (admission was free), we had to go *out* of the ground again to get into the clubhouse. I went for a 7-Up and a packet of nuts. Eddie and David came up and said hello, complimenting me on making the journey from Portsmouth for the game. "Portsmouth to Biggleswade," Eddie said. "Sounds like a Morrissey song."
"Or a Mark Radcliffe and Stuart Maconie programme," I replied. They liked that. Garry, the team photographer, had already given me a shout-out on Twitter for making the trip.
A bit later a fellow fan stood next to me in the Gents said "You're the man who saved Briggsy." I concurred with a smile. He carried on "You saved him from wearing an XL." Fame at last.
My drinking capacity's usually pretty generous: I'm not one to get heady on two ciders. Through the game, though, I was decidedly woozy, from a combination of the lack of sleep, ciders, absence of a reviving coffee, and a lingering post-Covid nasally feeling. I joined in in minor key with the Brigata songs. On the pitch, the Clapton girls had the upper hand over their two divisions higher opponents much of the time. In the second half, Emily Link put Clapton in front with a beautiful strike and the Tons support erupted. A bit later Marta Boiro sent in a looping shot that the officials judged to have just crossed the line. Cue unconfined celebrations in full voice.
The final whistle blew, CCFC had won 2-0, and the players and coaches came over to the fans and walked along in a line high-fiving or shaking hands with us all. This was, honestly, the most joy I'd got out of a club football match since the demise of the Lady Pies. The songs were still ringing out and the girls still celebrating on the pitch in front of the main body of our support when I waved goodbye and moseyed out of the ground to head for the station.
Back to the office today for the first time in nearly a fortnight. Made it through most of the pile awaiting me.
