(no subject)
Jun. 22nd, 2008 05:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eiffel_71
Set off for Birmingham on Friday morning for the Footiechick Fives.
The coach made a 45 minute refreshment stop at Oxford. I wandered into a nearby square full of food and drink outlets, where I spotted a van marked 'Felafel'. Among the delights on offer was lamb shawarma with houmous and salad in a wrap. Enough to tempt me, it was the first time I'd tried any of the kebab family since the dodgy one that struck me down just over a month ago - and very tasty it was too. Moved on to a coffee shop for an iced white chocolate mocha.
At Oxford a Mozambican lady who was travelling to Chester got on and sat next to me. She sure liked to talk! Halfway to Birmingham, though, she fell asleep, allowing me to return to my book.
On arrival in Birmingham I walked up to the central shopping area to look for a postcard for Ann. No newsagent's shop, and none of the market stalls, had one! I guess Birmingham isn't really a tourist city... After close to an hour's walking and searching, I finally found some in Clinton Cards in the Bullring. From there, en route to my B&B, I called at the Dubliner - the pub where Ann and I called in on our way to the 1998 Eurovision - to write her postcard over a much needed ice cold Magners.
THe B&B was attached to a Caribbean restaurant, in a back street about a mile from the coach station. The proprietress, a fortyish West Indian lady, showed me to a side door - "mind the step" - leading to a staircase - "mind your head" - at the top of which the rooms lay. Mine was a pleasant, homely little room with ensuite bathroom, an alarm radio and a TV, though it had two beds in it.
Alas, I wasn't to have the pleasure of tuning the radio to Kerrang and listening to Kate Lawler in her own city without need of Freeview box, as she's on holiday this week, sunning herself in Barcelona. It's all right for some.
Moseyed down to the main road where I found a take-away called Salt 'N' Pepper. As in Manchester and Lurgan, this kebab shop was run by Indians, so your kebab came in a naan bread. While there I picked up a couple of cans of Pepsi for the Croatia v Turkey match. My Doner in a naan, with salad and mayonnaise, was very tasty.
Back at the B&B, watched the Turks snatch victory in the closing minutes YET again! Hats off to them. Saw Danny Wallace on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross - his new book, in the same vein as his others, looks well worth checking out. Finished the evening with Intermission on BBC1 - top film.
At the B&B, you filled in a card for what items you wanted at breakfast. So on Friday evening I'd handed my card to the proprietress; as regular readers will know, egg white seriously disagrees with me, so I left 'eggs' unticked. Alas, because I'd ticked bacon and sausage, she must have thought that was an oversight, because waiting for me on Saturday morning, alongside the items I did order, was a frigging fried egg. Thankfully it didn't give off much of an odour - it was pretty well done - and I was able to eat everything else; the bacon was first class. The proprietress seemed in a bit of a sullen mood when I was at breakfast; perhaps because I'd requested mine at 9.30 and that stopped her from shutting early. The cleaning lady, a white Londoner, was cheerful and chatty though.
Any thoughts I'd had of venturing out into the city in search of a Non-League Today were rapidly snuffed when I looked out of the restaurant's high window. It was pouring with rain. So I spent the morning in the room reading, then watched Football Focus until my taxi arrived to take me to Star City.
When I arrived, after being stopped for a chat by the Footiechick merchandise salesman who urged me to 'get my team to have a team photo done for a tenner', I wandered into the bar - where the Hawk girls were sitting. Hellos all round. The girls had bad news - the pitches were open air. With the rain pouring down, and my not having brought my rain jacket because I'd believed the pitches to be indoors, I groaned. A drink with Trevor and Dick until the girls all went off to the changing room and Trevor just went for a walkabout. I sat watching the Top 10 on 'The Hits' channel on the big screen - I already loved Gabriella Cilmi's album; this was the first time I'd seen the video for Sweet About Me; sexy minx! - over a Magners.
As![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nice_guy_but was in the area for the weekend, we texted each other on and off with thoughts of possibly meeting up. Unfortunately, when I'd set off for Star City I hadn't known that nice_guy_but and his posse would be going to Sutton Coldfield, which is actually so near to Star City that there's a direct bus, so I'd left my cash card at the B&B.
Rob employed his usual device of dubbing our stronger team the B team and the other the A. The rain, thank goodness, was quite light most of the afternoon and actually stopped periodically. The B's breezed through their group, winning every game - including sticking five past Liverbirds, featuring some of Liverpool FC Ladies, who beat us in the final last year. The A's had a tougher time of it, and Lisa was not amused when Aston Vixens, who'd crashed to 10-0 and 8-0 defeats to other teams in the group, dropped out halfway through meaning that the two teams they hadn't faced yet, including Hawks, were credited with 3-0 wins. As Lisa said, we'd stuck eight past a team who'd beaten the Vixens by ten. Lisa, Rob and Trevor all protested vehemently, trying to persuade a tournament official to expunge the Vixens' record altogether, but their protests fell on deaf ears.
The A's still qualified from their group, thanks to some cracking goals from Claire, but both sides lost their quarter-finals - the B's fell 3-2 to Leafield Athletic, from one level higher in the pyramid, while the A's were tonked 8-1 by Wigan Athletic. With nothing to hang around for, and keen to get something to eat and be back in my room in time for the Oranje's match with Russia, I phoned for a taxi and said my goodbyes.
I thought momentarily about Sutton Coldfield, but by the time I'd got to my B&B to collect my card and walked to New Street station, I'd have needed the kindest of train connections to have a fighting chance of being in the pub in time to sing Het Wilhelmus. So I got the taxi to drop me at the newsagent across the road from Salt 'N' Pepper. The newsagent didn't sell Non-League Today. Over the road for a chicken kebab in a naan and a couple of Pepsis, then the long haul to the B&B to catch the last quarter-hour of Dr Who. Donna and Rose together (no, I'm not getting slashy there, though there's an idea) - what more could you wish for?
Well, a quarter-final win for the Oranje. Sadly, it wasn't to be. For the first time in the tournament, the Netherlands were absolute pap. I never stopped hoping until the Russians scored in the 57th minute; then, as the minutes slid by with no sign of the beautiful football the Oranje had played against France and Italy, I sank into the depths of despair. By the 80th minute I was walking around the room kicking furniture. Ruud's goal offered a lifeline - and had me jumping up and down (I'd by now pushed the chair to the back wall and was watching standing up) - though I always had our atrocious record in penalty shoot-outs at the back of my mind - but still we didn't improve. The commentators made it worse : I could see the Oranje were rubbish and didn't need them telling me every five seconds how the Russians deserved to win. In the second period of extra time Russia killed it off with two well taken goals and I slumped on the bed, drained.
I'd really believed this Oranje team, for the first time in twenty years, had the potential to go all the way, and had allowed myself to believe we would reach the final. This was worse than 1992, when we were too arrogant to take Denmark seriously in the semi-final and consequently lost. Got a sympathetic text from Jade, who didn't know I was in Birmingham, just after the final whistle.
Spent the rest of the evening trying to take my mind off the defeat with the Khan-Gomez fight then reading until my eyes flagged. Lying in bed, I thought of how there's now just a black void for over a fortnight, until 8 July when the Hawks' pre-season friendlies start.
The proprietress had got the message by this morning : my breakfast was egg-free. Checked out early to walk down to the central shopping area in search of the non-league newspapers. I didn't have much trouble finding a Non-League Paper - every newsagent had that. It was Murphy's Law that in the first one I visited, opposite Snow Hill station, the shopkeeper, who looked Asian, would ask me "Did Russia win last night in the football?" Concealing my heartache I politely told him they'd beaten Holland 3-1.
"So did they win the Championship?"
"No, they go through to the semi-final against Spain or Italy."
"And after that the final?"
"That's right." I managed to smile for him. From his accent, he just might have been Russian, though he didn't look it.
Non-League Today was a different matter. I tried every newspaper shop between Snow Hill and New Street station, and the one in New Street station. Not one had it. As I began walking back from the Bullring, having given up hope, I spotted the little St Martin's newsagent next to the church. Joy - they had it!
Back to the coach station, where the Upper Crust coffee kiosk didn't sell iced coffee. So I had to make do with a Red Bull.
The long coach journey home wasn't too bad, thanks to the book I was reading, Paul Carter's Don't Tell Mum I Work On The Rigs - great stuff. When we pulled straight out of Oxford, I groaned, as I was starting to feel hungry and in need of an iced coffee; thankfully, on the road out of Oxford the driver announced we'd have a refreshment break at Chieveley services.
And so back home. And bollocks to Euro 2008.
The coach made a 45 minute refreshment stop at Oxford. I wandered into a nearby square full of food and drink outlets, where I spotted a van marked 'Felafel'. Among the delights on offer was lamb shawarma with houmous and salad in a wrap. Enough to tempt me, it was the first time I'd tried any of the kebab family since the dodgy one that struck me down just over a month ago - and very tasty it was too. Moved on to a coffee shop for an iced white chocolate mocha.
At Oxford a Mozambican lady who was travelling to Chester got on and sat next to me. She sure liked to talk! Halfway to Birmingham, though, she fell asleep, allowing me to return to my book.
On arrival in Birmingham I walked up to the central shopping area to look for a postcard for Ann. No newsagent's shop, and none of the market stalls, had one! I guess Birmingham isn't really a tourist city... After close to an hour's walking and searching, I finally found some in Clinton Cards in the Bullring. From there, en route to my B&B, I called at the Dubliner - the pub where Ann and I called in on our way to the 1998 Eurovision - to write her postcard over a much needed ice cold Magners.
THe B&B was attached to a Caribbean restaurant, in a back street about a mile from the coach station. The proprietress, a fortyish West Indian lady, showed me to a side door - "mind the step" - leading to a staircase - "mind your head" - at the top of which the rooms lay. Mine was a pleasant, homely little room with ensuite bathroom, an alarm radio and a TV, though it had two beds in it.
Alas, I wasn't to have the pleasure of tuning the radio to Kerrang and listening to Kate Lawler in her own city without need of Freeview box, as she's on holiday this week, sunning herself in Barcelona. It's all right for some.
Moseyed down to the main road where I found a take-away called Salt 'N' Pepper. As in Manchester and Lurgan, this kebab shop was run by Indians, so your kebab came in a naan bread. While there I picked up a couple of cans of Pepsi for the Croatia v Turkey match. My Doner in a naan, with salad and mayonnaise, was very tasty.
Back at the B&B, watched the Turks snatch victory in the closing minutes YET again! Hats off to them. Saw Danny Wallace on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross - his new book, in the same vein as his others, looks well worth checking out. Finished the evening with Intermission on BBC1 - top film.
At the B&B, you filled in a card for what items you wanted at breakfast. So on Friday evening I'd handed my card to the proprietress; as regular readers will know, egg white seriously disagrees with me, so I left 'eggs' unticked. Alas, because I'd ticked bacon and sausage, she must have thought that was an oversight, because waiting for me on Saturday morning, alongside the items I did order, was a frigging fried egg. Thankfully it didn't give off much of an odour - it was pretty well done - and I was able to eat everything else; the bacon was first class. The proprietress seemed in a bit of a sullen mood when I was at breakfast; perhaps because I'd requested mine at 9.30 and that stopped her from shutting early. The cleaning lady, a white Londoner, was cheerful and chatty though.
Any thoughts I'd had of venturing out into the city in search of a Non-League Today were rapidly snuffed when I looked out of the restaurant's high window. It was pouring with rain. So I spent the morning in the room reading, then watched Football Focus until my taxi arrived to take me to Star City.
When I arrived, after being stopped for a chat by the Footiechick merchandise salesman who urged me to 'get my team to have a team photo done for a tenner', I wandered into the bar - where the Hawk girls were sitting. Hellos all round. The girls had bad news - the pitches were open air. With the rain pouring down, and my not having brought my rain jacket because I'd believed the pitches to be indoors, I groaned. A drink with Trevor and Dick until the girls all went off to the changing room and Trevor just went for a walkabout. I sat watching the Top 10 on 'The Hits' channel on the big screen - I already loved Gabriella Cilmi's album; this was the first time I'd seen the video for Sweet About Me; sexy minx! - over a Magners.
As
nice_guy_but was in the area for the weekend, we texted each other on and off with thoughts of possibly meeting up. Unfortunately, when I'd set off for Star City I hadn't known that nice_guy_but and his posse would be going to Sutton Coldfield, which is actually so near to Star City that there's a direct bus, so I'd left my cash card at the B&B.Rob employed his usual device of dubbing our stronger team the B team and the other the A. The rain, thank goodness, was quite light most of the afternoon and actually stopped periodically. The B's breezed through their group, winning every game - including sticking five past Liverbirds, featuring some of Liverpool FC Ladies, who beat us in the final last year. The A's had a tougher time of it, and Lisa was not amused when Aston Vixens, who'd crashed to 10-0 and 8-0 defeats to other teams in the group, dropped out halfway through meaning that the two teams they hadn't faced yet, including Hawks, were credited with 3-0 wins. As Lisa said, we'd stuck eight past a team who'd beaten the Vixens by ten. Lisa, Rob and Trevor all protested vehemently, trying to persuade a tournament official to expunge the Vixens' record altogether, but their protests fell on deaf ears.
The A's still qualified from their group, thanks to some cracking goals from Claire, but both sides lost their quarter-finals - the B's fell 3-2 to Leafield Athletic, from one level higher in the pyramid, while the A's were tonked 8-1 by Wigan Athletic. With nothing to hang around for, and keen to get something to eat and be back in my room in time for the Oranje's match with Russia, I phoned for a taxi and said my goodbyes.
I thought momentarily about Sutton Coldfield, but by the time I'd got to my B&B to collect my card and walked to New Street station, I'd have needed the kindest of train connections to have a fighting chance of being in the pub in time to sing Het Wilhelmus. So I got the taxi to drop me at the newsagent across the road from Salt 'N' Pepper. The newsagent didn't sell Non-League Today. Over the road for a chicken kebab in a naan and a couple of Pepsis, then the long haul to the B&B to catch the last quarter-hour of Dr Who. Donna and Rose together (no, I'm not getting slashy there, though there's an idea) - what more could you wish for?
Well, a quarter-final win for the Oranje. Sadly, it wasn't to be. For the first time in the tournament, the Netherlands were absolute pap. I never stopped hoping until the Russians scored in the 57th minute; then, as the minutes slid by with no sign of the beautiful football the Oranje had played against France and Italy, I sank into the depths of despair. By the 80th minute I was walking around the room kicking furniture. Ruud's goal offered a lifeline - and had me jumping up and down (I'd by now pushed the chair to the back wall and was watching standing up) - though I always had our atrocious record in penalty shoot-outs at the back of my mind - but still we didn't improve. The commentators made it worse : I could see the Oranje were rubbish and didn't need them telling me every five seconds how the Russians deserved to win. In the second period of extra time Russia killed it off with two well taken goals and I slumped on the bed, drained.
I'd really believed this Oranje team, for the first time in twenty years, had the potential to go all the way, and had allowed myself to believe we would reach the final. This was worse than 1992, when we were too arrogant to take Denmark seriously in the semi-final and consequently lost. Got a sympathetic text from Jade, who didn't know I was in Birmingham, just after the final whistle.
Spent the rest of the evening trying to take my mind off the defeat with the Khan-Gomez fight then reading until my eyes flagged. Lying in bed, I thought of how there's now just a black void for over a fortnight, until 8 July when the Hawks' pre-season friendlies start.
The proprietress had got the message by this morning : my breakfast was egg-free. Checked out early to walk down to the central shopping area in search of the non-league newspapers. I didn't have much trouble finding a Non-League Paper - every newsagent had that. It was Murphy's Law that in the first one I visited, opposite Snow Hill station, the shopkeeper, who looked Asian, would ask me "Did Russia win last night in the football?" Concealing my heartache I politely told him they'd beaten Holland 3-1.
"So did they win the Championship?"
"No, they go through to the semi-final against Spain or Italy."
"And after that the final?"
"That's right." I managed to smile for him. From his accent, he just might have been Russian, though he didn't look it.
Non-League Today was a different matter. I tried every newspaper shop between Snow Hill and New Street station, and the one in New Street station. Not one had it. As I began walking back from the Bullring, having given up hope, I spotted the little St Martin's newsagent next to the church. Joy - they had it!
Back to the coach station, where the Upper Crust coffee kiosk didn't sell iced coffee. So I had to make do with a Red Bull.
The long coach journey home wasn't too bad, thanks to the book I was reading, Paul Carter's Don't Tell Mum I Work On The Rigs - great stuff. When we pulled straight out of Oxford, I groaned, as I was starting to feel hungry and in need of an iced coffee; thankfully, on the road out of Oxford the driver announced we'd have a refreshment break at Chieveley services.
And so back home. And bollocks to Euro 2008.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-06-22 06:07 pm (UTC)Then I decided to shift my support to Croatia, because, um.... never mind.
But they crashed out too. My support seems to be the kiss of death.
Now I just have to say come on, anyone but Italy!
no subject
Date: 2008-06-22 06:26 pm (UTC)Ah well, Y Viva España.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-22 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-22 10:05 pm (UTC)And sorry about the Dutch going out, but you're right, they were pretty awful.