Saturday, May 15, 2010


Saturday 15 May 2010

My time of arrival into today is clocked at 7.50AM.  For me this resembles the gift of a lie in.  By 8AM the TV is on, tuned into BBC News in the hope that something good has happened in the world.  Upon inspection it does not appear so.  Instead all we have is the political equivalent of the Flanders brothers (the Millibands) gearing up to run against each other.  Is sibling rivalry really a good thing for politics?

Quickly I murmur, rise and pull myself together with view to running into routine and hitting Asda on a Saturday morning.  After this heavy week I have nothing left in my kitchen, hardly anything in my fridge or cupboards.  Certainly not enough for me to have any breakfast before heading out thus this week I will be doing the grocery shopping with a hunger, a gesture that usually serves to double most food bills.

As I head out and drive down Butt Road I spot a friend carrying his kid.  With his artist aspirations and family values he has become quite the hippy.  He also looks like one of those people you would look at and consider a weirdo when growing up.  This I guess is how people reach this destination.  Regardless he is happier than me and thus has it better.

You know a day beginning well when you have an SUV fire its horn at you in accusation of cutting it up.  I chuckle and feel anger in equal quantities as I bag a small victory and spend an extended moment trying to look at the guy’s face, through his eyes and into his soul.

From here I manage to get to Asda safely and soundly even if the SUV does catch me up at the entrance and for a moment it appears that my own little version of Duel maybe about to occur.

This week shopping at Asda is a haven and necessity.  Today the Daily Telegraph is giving away a free copy of Chaplin on DVD with it which represents the first decent weekend newspaper freebie in months.

Today Asda feels welcoming for the first time in weeks.  As ever I spot the victim from school and as ever I blank him, hoping that he doesn’t see me in return.

Eventually I return home and listen to Danny Baker on Five Live where he has Stephen Fry as his guest today.  The guy is a legend.

Mid morning there is a knock on my door and it is the postman delivering five seven-inch singles.  As he hands them over he makes comment “your flat must be full” to which I respond by apologising (unnecessarily).  He is not wrong though.

From here I sail out the remainder of the Danny Baker show before pulling myself together to head out.  I parcel up a copy of JGRAM WORLD to send out before heading to Balkerne Heights and my parents’ place for Millwall at Huddersfield in the play offs on Sky.

When I arrive the old man is out, taking the dog for a walk.  Eventually they return at which point on cue Bobby goes crazy for me.

I take my throne (their sofa) and watch Millwall scrap at Huddersfield, wary of the last time ‘Wall played at the McAlpine Stadium (which was also shown on Sky).

In the end it is a blunt game with a stoic performance from the Lions.  For a long time Huddersfield have a grip on the game but they can’t break through Millwall acting very solid.

Slowly Millwall come into the game, despite Steve Morison getting a bloody gash to the head, which pisses out blood and sees him wearing a crazy headband.  Soon it becomes apparent that it is not going to be Millwall’s day when the referee fails to give two clear penalties to Millwall.  Some might scream conspiracy but equally we’d probably only miss the fuckers anyway.

In the second half Millwall finally put the ball in the net but it comes from a subtle handball by Neil Harris that obviously gets disallowed.  In the end the game finishes 0-0, which will do.

Afterwards I head into town just as the skies begin to drizzle.  I head straight to the post office and send my book before venturing into a stagger around town.  Colchester on a Saturday afternoon doesn’t improve.  Today again it is busy, full of poor people trying to prove something.  At the market some guy with big muscles (strategically displayed) just steps in front of me and when he doesn’t continue moving I step on his shoes London style at which point he gives me evils causing me to nonchalantly apologise.

From here I look in various shops but can’t find anything to spend my money on.  Then as I head up Long Wyre Street I notice that Lingard Games is closing down.  This is a sad loss, I blame the internet.  And only moments later as I head to Culver Square I spot Kandy Pants with her mother.  An awkward moment occurs as I spot her physically recoil from me.  Even after five plus years?  These people.

Inevitably I wind up in Waterstones where I text Stevo about my spotting.  Quickly he responds with “she’s gross.”  Fair dues.  That’s probably why she hangs out with her mum in town on a Saturday afternoon.

With the time now 3PM I rush back to my parents for the cup final where Portsmouth are trying to win against Chelsea.

The cup final actually turns out to be a half decent game.  With David James in his gay purple goalie top he has a surprisingly great game suggesting that maybe he should be England’s number one still heading into the World Cup.  If he plays like this for England in South Africa we will stand a more than healthy chance of doing well.

Gradually Chelsea begin to bed in and start hitting the Portsmouth woodwork left, right and centre.  When Drogba smashes a free kick against the crossbar it appears to come crashing down over the line to the point that even the score on the TV rolls to 1-0.

As the first half comes to a close it begins to remind me of the 2004 cup final when Millwall almost made it to halftime goalless against Manchester United.  Almost.  Portsmouth today however achieve this.

During halftime I have to move my car for fear of the Balkerne Heights parking patrol ticketing or clamping it.  If only the powers that be had designed the place with enough visitor’s parking spaces.  Hindsight is 20/20.

When the second half resumes I suddenly find myself with a fresh hate figures on the pitch.  For a change it’s not Terry, Drogba, Lampard or any of the other usual/obvious poncy choices, this game it is to be Kevin Prince Boateng.  The guy looks a complete trick, where does he get all his front from?  This opinion is merely based on his disposition and the manner in which he carries himself and absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he misses a penalty for Portsmouth although schadenfreude does rear its head at this time.

Eventually and predictably the inevitable occurs as Didier Drogba fires an impressive free kick past an unfortunate David James.  From here momentum goes the way of Chelsea as later they are awarded a penalty of their own as the dismantling of Portsmouth begins to come to fruition.  Hilariously though Lampard fluffs it, probably with Drogba sniggering in the background.

The game finally ends at 1-0 to Chelsea and in the process they complete the double for the first time.  Never has the feat felt so pathetic.

Not long after this disappointment I head home to my flat for a Saturday night in the fast lane.

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