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Lucky Star
I'd planned to make my journey to see Tranmere Ladies yesterday a day trip, but a look at thetrainline.com early in the week revealed that engineering works had scuppered that plan. So a quick spot of online research turned up a pub with B&B accommodation 10 minutes' walk away from the ground, and they had a room available.
So after a black forest hot chocolate and slice of Christmas cake in the Costa by MK station, I took the train to Merseyside at lunch time Saturday. As we were pulling into Crewe, where I had to change, I saw the stands of Crewe Alexandra's Gresty Road ground out of the train window. The next Liverpool train was cancelled, meaning I'd have a half hour wait; a check on my phone showed Crewe were at home to Port Vale, and for a moment I seriously thought about nipping out to the ground to see the match, bagging one more of the 92, but I soon came down to earth - this trip was putting a big enough hole in my already critical finances as it was, not to mention the logistics of carrying my holdall into a League football match, and breaking up my train journey on a ticket for a continuous one. I spent the half hour in the station cafe.
Arrived at the pub just before 4pm. The accommodation was cheap and cheerful, the room pleasant enough, and the landlady, barmaids and Spud the chef all very friendly. After watching the footy results come in on the BBC red button, I checked out the EPG to see that the telly was missing quite a few channels, ITV among them. That clearly would not do, so I risked an installation; happily, all the missing Freeview channels came back. They were the Wales versions rather than North West but I wasn't complaining; my TV at home gets the wrong region so I'm used to it.
Had delicious rump steak in the bar with a pint of Old Speckled Hen on special offer before returning to the room for an evening's TV viewing.
Yesterday morning came the place's only drawback; in the landing's shared bathroom, while the sink plug seemed to be a perfect fit, in fact despite the plug being fully in the water slowly but steadily drained away. That made washing and shaving a tad on the tricky side. Then, though, downstairs Spud served up a perfect full English (in my case, minus the eggs and beans as per my request) that was ready within less than 10 minutes of my arriving at table.
A nice Sunday roast beef at noon, talking footy with the people at the next table and one of the barmaids - she was an Everton fan, her Liverpool supporting boyfriend was heckling her from over in the bar area - followed by sticky toffee pudding, then a leisurely stroll down to Villa Park, home of Ashville FC of the West Cheshire League and venue for Tranmere Ladies home matches (not to be confused with another Villa Park).
Fittingly, Shirley, one of my four sisters still with the club, current joint manager, was the first person I met; she was in the kitchen making a cup of tea for the referee. We said hello and she asked how my journey had gone, then she went to take the cuppa to the ref's dressing room, leading me to the bar area en route where she pointed out the TV remote, enabling me to switch from MTV to Sky Sports.
A man arrived in the bar just as Man City v Tottenham kicked off and City scored after 18 seconds. He soon disappeared into the staff-only area behind the bar, but, alas, never opened up; the shutters remained down all day. Fortunately it wasn't long before Louise appeared and Shirley came back to join us, bringing Denise and Lynn with her - all four of my still-at-Tranmere sisters in the room with me.
Denise came straight over for a kiss and a hug. Shirley said she hoped they'd win today, not just for my sake but to prove I wasn't a Jonah, as they'd lost on my last two trips to see them. Lynn pointed out that those were away games, so hopefully I'd bring better luck at home. All of us had a chinwag about how we're doing now and some of the old memories until the Sheffield United Ladies team bus, which was late, pulled into the car park, which was the girls' cue to head for the dressing room and, soon after, out onto the pitch for warm-up. As she disappeared towards the dressing room, Denise remarked that I was looking trimmer, and added "sexy". Shirley made me a cup of tea before we went and told Karen, mum of one of the players and volunteer tea lady, not to charge me as I'd travelled from Milton Keynes.
The first half was one of those frustrating episodes every football fan knows all about, when your team are on top and just can't get the ball in the net. Tranmere dominated throughout but most of their attacks broke down through either there being no-one in the box or some admittedly splendid saves from the Blades' keeper. Dani, one of the three forwards, sent a couple of speculative shots high and wide. Rachel, a striker I knew fairly well - she was pitched into the first team as a 15-year-old towards the end of my time with Tranmere, and she'd had a spell with Portsmouth Ladies when I was watching my women's football in Hampshire - blasted one shot over the bar, and was clean through on goal with the keeper beaten when the ball hit a divot, bobbled up and bounced off her shinpad wide of the post.
I watched the second half with Louise's parents and Kate's parents, who were all standing together in the corner at the end the girls were attacking. On 55 minutes Sheffield scored from a corner and I felt that deep sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Surely, after being on top all game, the girls couldn't lose on what would almost certainly be my last time seeing Denise and Lynn play? Fortunately, in the 67th minute Dani slippped her marker and, with the goalie beached on the ground in the middle of the penalty box, hit a ball along the deck that appeared to roll towards the goal in slo-mo before finally crossing the line. Instinctively I jumped up and punched the air, exclaiming 'yes!' I'm sure I heard amused observations from the girls on the subs' bench.
Then, two minutes later, Denise had a shot parried by the goalie and Rachel ran onto it and thumped it into the top corner. I lost all inhibitions and went totally bananas celebrating. Kate then came on as sub and added yet more zip, and in the 75th Dani made it 3-1. From then on in the girls coasted to three precious points towards staying up.
Denise's boyfriend and 19-month-old daughter Ella arrived during the closing minutes of the game. Ella burst into tears, apparently just as she met Shirley; Kate's parents laughed "She doesn't like Shirley. She was all right that week she saw her through the bars of the dugout, though; she must have thought she was at the zoo." Louise's mum remarked on Ella's apparent aversion to Shirley as Shirley went by, and Shirley said "She's just a miserable bitch, just like her mother." Denise was out of earshot.
In the clubhouse after I asked Shirley if the bar would be opening; she sadly said no, they don't open it on Sundays, not even when hosting a women's match. The girls did invite me to join them in their post-match sandwiches and Blue Ribands, and I paid for a cup of tea this time. Another chat with my four sisters and Amie, another of the current players, until Denise and Lynn said goodbye, with another hug and kiss from Denise, then I made my way back to the pub just in time to catch the Non-Stop Classic Top 40 on Replay Radio.
After the show ended I made for the pub bar to toast the girls' win with a mixed fruit Kopparberg. A friendly barman remarked on my 1999-2000 Tranmere shirt and was delighted to hear about my relationship with the Ladies' team.
Spud remembered my breakfast preference this morning and had it ready in five minutes. Very tasty again. Landlady Su said a warm fond goodbye as I paid my bill.
As the train whizzed through the Midlands I got a nagging thought at the back of my head. I checked my pocket and, sure enough, the room key was still there. I phoned Su, who was fine about it - she'd just been wondering where the key was - and on arriving at Milton Keynes I made straight for the post office.
It's well posh at MK post office, all new decor, and you take a numbered ticket and wait your turn on comfy seats. I sent the key up to the pub Special Delivery, nipped into the Costa over the road for another black forest hot choc and went to queue for the bus home.
Thanks to the wait in MK (I'd have had the same time to wait for the bus, nearly an hour, with or without the detour to the post office) and roadworks closing the main road through the village, the little last leg home from MK was the longest bit of the whole journey. Indeed the bus didn't go into the village at all; I had to walk the last half mile or so.
And so back to reality tomorrow.
So after a black forest hot chocolate and slice of Christmas cake in the Costa by MK station, I took the train to Merseyside at lunch time Saturday. As we were pulling into Crewe, where I had to change, I saw the stands of Crewe Alexandra's Gresty Road ground out of the train window. The next Liverpool train was cancelled, meaning I'd have a half hour wait; a check on my phone showed Crewe were at home to Port Vale, and for a moment I seriously thought about nipping out to the ground to see the match, bagging one more of the 92, but I soon came down to earth - this trip was putting a big enough hole in my already critical finances as it was, not to mention the logistics of carrying my holdall into a League football match, and breaking up my train journey on a ticket for a continuous one. I spent the half hour in the station cafe.
Arrived at the pub just before 4pm. The accommodation was cheap and cheerful, the room pleasant enough, and the landlady, barmaids and Spud the chef all very friendly. After watching the footy results come in on the BBC red button, I checked out the EPG to see that the telly was missing quite a few channels, ITV among them. That clearly would not do, so I risked an installation; happily, all the missing Freeview channels came back. They were the Wales versions rather than North West but I wasn't complaining; my TV at home gets the wrong region so I'm used to it.
Had delicious rump steak in the bar with a pint of Old Speckled Hen on special offer before returning to the room for an evening's TV viewing.
Yesterday morning came the place's only drawback; in the landing's shared bathroom, while the sink plug seemed to be a perfect fit, in fact despite the plug being fully in the water slowly but steadily drained away. That made washing and shaving a tad on the tricky side. Then, though, downstairs Spud served up a perfect full English (in my case, minus the eggs and beans as per my request) that was ready within less than 10 minutes of my arriving at table.
A nice Sunday roast beef at noon, talking footy with the people at the next table and one of the barmaids - she was an Everton fan, her Liverpool supporting boyfriend was heckling her from over in the bar area - followed by sticky toffee pudding, then a leisurely stroll down to Villa Park, home of Ashville FC of the West Cheshire League and venue for Tranmere Ladies home matches (not to be confused with another Villa Park).
Fittingly, Shirley, one of my four sisters still with the club, current joint manager, was the first person I met; she was in the kitchen making a cup of tea for the referee. We said hello and she asked how my journey had gone, then she went to take the cuppa to the ref's dressing room, leading me to the bar area en route where she pointed out the TV remote, enabling me to switch from MTV to Sky Sports.
A man arrived in the bar just as Man City v Tottenham kicked off and City scored after 18 seconds. He soon disappeared into the staff-only area behind the bar, but, alas, never opened up; the shutters remained down all day. Fortunately it wasn't long before Louise appeared and Shirley came back to join us, bringing Denise and Lynn with her - all four of my still-at-Tranmere sisters in the room with me.
Denise came straight over for a kiss and a hug. Shirley said she hoped they'd win today, not just for my sake but to prove I wasn't a Jonah, as they'd lost on my last two trips to see them. Lynn pointed out that those were away games, so hopefully I'd bring better luck at home. All of us had a chinwag about how we're doing now and some of the old memories until the Sheffield United Ladies team bus, which was late, pulled into the car park, which was the girls' cue to head for the dressing room and, soon after, out onto the pitch for warm-up. As she disappeared towards the dressing room, Denise remarked that I was looking trimmer, and added "sexy". Shirley made me a cup of tea before we went and told Karen, mum of one of the players and volunteer tea lady, not to charge me as I'd travelled from Milton Keynes.
The first half was one of those frustrating episodes every football fan knows all about, when your team are on top and just can't get the ball in the net. Tranmere dominated throughout but most of their attacks broke down through either there being no-one in the box or some admittedly splendid saves from the Blades' keeper. Dani, one of the three forwards, sent a couple of speculative shots high and wide. Rachel, a striker I knew fairly well - she was pitched into the first team as a 15-year-old towards the end of my time with Tranmere, and she'd had a spell with Portsmouth Ladies when I was watching my women's football in Hampshire - blasted one shot over the bar, and was clean through on goal with the keeper beaten when the ball hit a divot, bobbled up and bounced off her shinpad wide of the post.
I watched the second half with Louise's parents and Kate's parents, who were all standing together in the corner at the end the girls were attacking. On 55 minutes Sheffield scored from a corner and I felt that deep sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Surely, after being on top all game, the girls couldn't lose on what would almost certainly be my last time seeing Denise and Lynn play? Fortunately, in the 67th minute Dani slippped her marker and, with the goalie beached on the ground in the middle of the penalty box, hit a ball along the deck that appeared to roll towards the goal in slo-mo before finally crossing the line. Instinctively I jumped up and punched the air, exclaiming 'yes!' I'm sure I heard amused observations from the girls on the subs' bench.
Then, two minutes later, Denise had a shot parried by the goalie and Rachel ran onto it and thumped it into the top corner. I lost all inhibitions and went totally bananas celebrating. Kate then came on as sub and added yet more zip, and in the 75th Dani made it 3-1. From then on in the girls coasted to three precious points towards staying up.
Denise's boyfriend and 19-month-old daughter Ella arrived during the closing minutes of the game. Ella burst into tears, apparently just as she met Shirley; Kate's parents laughed "She doesn't like Shirley. She was all right that week she saw her through the bars of the dugout, though; she must have thought she was at the zoo." Louise's mum remarked on Ella's apparent aversion to Shirley as Shirley went by, and Shirley said "She's just a miserable bitch, just like her mother." Denise was out of earshot.
In the clubhouse after I asked Shirley if the bar would be opening; she sadly said no, they don't open it on Sundays, not even when hosting a women's match. The girls did invite me to join them in their post-match sandwiches and Blue Ribands, and I paid for a cup of tea this time. Another chat with my four sisters and Amie, another of the current players, until Denise and Lynn said goodbye, with another hug and kiss from Denise, then I made my way back to the pub just in time to catch the Non-Stop Classic Top 40 on Replay Radio.
After the show ended I made for the pub bar to toast the girls' win with a mixed fruit Kopparberg. A friendly barman remarked on my 1999-2000 Tranmere shirt and was delighted to hear about my relationship with the Ladies' team.
Spud remembered my breakfast preference this morning and had it ready in five minutes. Very tasty again. Landlady Su said a warm fond goodbye as I paid my bill.
As the train whizzed through the Midlands I got a nagging thought at the back of my head. I checked my pocket and, sure enough, the room key was still there. I phoned Su, who was fine about it - she'd just been wondering where the key was - and on arriving at Milton Keynes I made straight for the post office.
It's well posh at MK post office, all new decor, and you take a numbered ticket and wait your turn on comfy seats. I sent the key up to the pub Special Delivery, nipped into the Costa over the road for another black forest hot choc and went to queue for the bus home.
Thanks to the wait in MK (I'd have had the same time to wait for the bus, nearly an hour, with or without the detour to the post office) and roadworks closing the main road through the village, the little last leg home from MK was the longest bit of the whole journey. Indeed the bus didn't go into the village at all; I had to walk the last half mile or so.
And so back to reality tomorrow.