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Richard III (He’s In The Business Now)
Jan. 28th, 2024 08:01 pm
Started my travels yesterday with a jaunt along the coast to Chichester, Moneyfields FC’s new temporary home, for Moneys’ match with Hamble.
As my winter gloves, bought in November 2022 at Gatwick en route to Spain, have developed splits in the woollen outer layer at the tips of the index fingers, my first mission was to find a new pair. After drawing blanks at a few charity shops, I struck lucky at a menswear shop, though the only XL pair there were deep red. I guess they match the old Lioness away shirt.
Next I headed for The Dolphin and Anchor. Since it’s Wetherspoons’ Burns Week, I was looking forward to haggis, tatties and neeps. The place was heaving but I found a seat at one of the single tall tables at the back. Opening the Spoons app dashed my hopes - haggis was sold out.
I moseyed on and reached a pub called The Old Cross, with a sign ‘Emma and the team welcome you’. Never averse to supporting a landlady, I entered, spotted that it was a Greene King, found a table, opened the app and ordered a tasty Southern Fried chicken burger.
There was a homeless guy in the subway on the way to the ground. I asked if he wanted a pair of gloves but he said he had one. I dumped my old gloves in the clothes bank in the car park, though was disappointed to find this bank was for recycling textiles. I’d have rather had my gloves end up on the hands of someone in need.
At the ground, recognised the young Moneys programme seller with his Pompey cap and jacket. Climbed the clubhouse stairs to the bar where two friendly barmaids were wearing Chichester City FC sweatshirts. Sat down to a pre-match wild berry Rekorderlig.
Moneyfields won an entertaining game 2-1. On my way out of the ground I passed a delivery man laden with several pizzas, presumably for the players. He asked me how they’d got on and was surprised to learn Chichester had been playing away and Moneyfields were borrowing the ground.
From there it was the fair walk back to the station and a decaf mocha in the wonderful Saigon Munchbox cafe with its cheerful staff and several humorous signs. Train to Portsmouth & Southsea and then a cab to the hoverport for the hovercraft flight to the Isle of Wight.
Daniel was at Ryde to give me a lift to Newport, where, in association with the National Poo Museum, Attila the Stockbroker was performing that evening. After I’d checked into my hotel I walked down to the venue but doors hadn’t opened yet. After I’d wandered around outside for a few minutes I spotted Daniel and a group of his friends walking along, carrying something concealed by a tarpaulin. One of them was Nicola, whom I’d met last summer; Daniel introduced me to the others were all associated with the Poo Museum.
We went into the venue’s restaurant/bar and joined Attila, his wife Robina and their friends at their table. Attila gave me a warm welcome. I’d never met Robina before; she was a smashing lady. We remarked on the oddity of how Attila’s visit to the Poo Museum last September after noticing it in a list of Isle of Wight attractions, and his subsequent appointment as the Museum’s Pooet in Residence, had forged a firm friendship between an artist I’ve been following for over thirty years and a guy who’s been a great pal of mine for nearly forty. Attila, Robina and Daniel talked about their upcoming plans for a touring exhibit, then Attila and Co had to go and prepare for the show and the rest of us had one more drink.
Attila opened the show with an introduction about the Poo Museum and recited a few poems about it. My favourite was a song to the tune of Petula Clark’s Downtown about Southern Water’s pumping of sewage into the sea, Brown Crown. He then called Daniel onto the stage, and Daniel appeared, wearing the item that had been under the tarpaulin - a massive ploppie costume. Nicola joined him, Attila recited his poem about Daniel and the museum, including a serious message about keeping an eye on your poo for health reasons. Then Daniel and Nicola presented Attila with a brown sceptre, surmounted with a glass ball containing a pink pigeon dropping. They speculated that the pigeon had favoured a cherry blossom diet.
Daniel and Nicola left the stage, and Attila went on with a set including several topical poems clearly recently composed, and a selection of his classics. After the break he gave us a few of his best loved songs accompanying himself on Nelson, his mandola, recited a few more poems and signed off with a plug for the world’s first Pooetry Festival, at the Poo Museum on June 8th. As Attila sold books, records and CDs after the show, I was delighted to see Daniel buy a copy of his autobiography before they discussed arrangements for the festival.
As my winter gloves, bought in November 2022 at Gatwick en route to Spain, have developed splits in the woollen outer layer at the tips of the index fingers, my first mission was to find a new pair. After drawing blanks at a few charity shops, I struck lucky at a menswear shop, though the only XL pair there were deep red. I guess they match the old Lioness away shirt.
Next I headed for The Dolphin and Anchor. Since it’s Wetherspoons’ Burns Week, I was looking forward to haggis, tatties and neeps. The place was heaving but I found a seat at one of the single tall tables at the back. Opening the Spoons app dashed my hopes - haggis was sold out.
I moseyed on and reached a pub called The Old Cross, with a sign ‘Emma and the team welcome you’. Never averse to supporting a landlady, I entered, spotted that it was a Greene King, found a table, opened the app and ordered a tasty Southern Fried chicken burger.
There was a homeless guy in the subway on the way to the ground. I asked if he wanted a pair of gloves but he said he had one. I dumped my old gloves in the clothes bank in the car park, though was disappointed to find this bank was for recycling textiles. I’d have rather had my gloves end up on the hands of someone in need.
At the ground, recognised the young Moneys programme seller with his Pompey cap and jacket. Climbed the clubhouse stairs to the bar where two friendly barmaids were wearing Chichester City FC sweatshirts. Sat down to a pre-match wild berry Rekorderlig.
Moneyfields won an entertaining game 2-1. On my way out of the ground I passed a delivery man laden with several pizzas, presumably for the players. He asked me how they’d got on and was surprised to learn Chichester had been playing away and Moneyfields were borrowing the ground.
From there it was the fair walk back to the station and a decaf mocha in the wonderful Saigon Munchbox cafe with its cheerful staff and several humorous signs. Train to Portsmouth & Southsea and then a cab to the hoverport for the hovercraft flight to the Isle of Wight.
Daniel was at Ryde to give me a lift to Newport, where, in association with the National Poo Museum, Attila the Stockbroker was performing that evening. After I’d checked into my hotel I walked down to the venue but doors hadn’t opened yet. After I’d wandered around outside for a few minutes I spotted Daniel and a group of his friends walking along, carrying something concealed by a tarpaulin. One of them was Nicola, whom I’d met last summer; Daniel introduced me to the others were all associated with the Poo Museum.
We went into the venue’s restaurant/bar and joined Attila, his wife Robina and their friends at their table. Attila gave me a warm welcome. I’d never met Robina before; she was a smashing lady. We remarked on the oddity of how Attila’s visit to the Poo Museum last September after noticing it in a list of Isle of Wight attractions, and his subsequent appointment as the Museum’s Pooet in Residence, had forged a firm friendship between an artist I’ve been following for over thirty years and a guy who’s been a great pal of mine for nearly forty. Attila, Robina and Daniel talked about their upcoming plans for a touring exhibit, then Attila and Co had to go and prepare for the show and the rest of us had one more drink.
Attila opened the show with an introduction about the Poo Museum and recited a few poems about it. My favourite was a song to the tune of Petula Clark’s Downtown about Southern Water’s pumping of sewage into the sea, Brown Crown. He then called Daniel onto the stage, and Daniel appeared, wearing the item that had been under the tarpaulin - a massive ploppie costume. Nicola joined him, Attila recited his poem about Daniel and the museum, including a serious message about keeping an eye on your poo for health reasons. Then Daniel and Nicola presented Attila with a brown sceptre, surmounted with a glass ball containing a pink pigeon dropping. They speculated that the pigeon had favoured a cherry blossom diet.
Daniel and Nicola left the stage, and Attila went on with a set including several topical poems clearly recently composed, and a selection of his classics. After the break he gave us a few of his best loved songs accompanying himself on Nelson, his mandola, recited a few more poems and signed off with a plug for the world’s first Pooetry Festival, at the Poo Museum on June 8th. As Attila sold books, records and CDs after the show, I was delighted to see Daniel buy a copy of his autobiography before they discussed arrangements for the festival.
