Well that was the weekend that was. So full of expectation and ending in unmitigated disaster.Saturday started well with a shower,leisurely breakfast and walk along the quiet streets to the local supermarket for the weekend vegetables. I think I have managed to thwart the latest snail attack on my garden plants. I am not sure that the saucer of red wine out for them helped -[No way am I wasting beer on them!] .The salt seems to work. Long term problem could be me needing to plant seaside plants as my soil will have lots and lots of salt in it!! A phone call at 11 reminded me that I was due to meet a couple of friends in my new local. When I say new – it is new to me. . . not the ‘spit and sawdust’ and decaying smoke stained wallpaper of the Bear but the light and airy Angel.I realised I could watch the Cup Final there also. To those of you who do not understand the tribal allegiance that some of us have to their soccer team – skip a paragraph!
My love affair with Manchester United began at the age of 5. My Dad took me to watch them. My teenage years were all about playing at school through the various age groups until, one day I would trot out onto the hallowed turf that is Old Trafford. Well the nearest I came to setting foot on the pitch was in 1952 when we ran onto the turf in celebration of a league win. The Busby Babes were born. In February 1958 that team perished on a snowswept runway in far off Munich. This was the first time I had felt the cold hand of death. Ok two elderly relatives had recently died – but that is what old folk do – die. Half a soccer team of players some no more than 2 or 3 years older than yourself did nt deserve to die – they were young in the prime of there lives.Since that day I have had a fear of flying – and a fanatical love of my team. Winning is an expectation losing does nt enter the formula. Of course they will lose – when the opponents deserve victory we will be the first to applaud them.Whoever said that taking part in an event was more important than winning must have been a geek who never donned a team shirt and pitted his wits against a determined foe.
So last Saturday I sat slowly imbibing in the golden nectar whilst watching the first Cup Final at the new Wembley. United were nt playing with the finesse and panache expected. Was it that the opposition nullified there exhuberance? We had the ball over the line but it was disallowed. DISALLOWED for what? A foul? This is the team that lost a final when the goalkeeper, Harry Gregg was charged into the back of the net by Nat Lofthouse in 1958 Final – that was given why not Giggs effort on Saturday? With only minutes away from a penalty shootout, my own player of the premiership,Drogba, scored the only goal of the game. My head fell into my hands – total dispair . . . . . I did nt watch the medal presentation – I walked home totally deflated.
I stopped at my Chinese takeaway and bought a chicken and mushroom curry with boiled rice.I had a glass of wine with the food but did nt really enjoy it.
Today, Monday I had breakfast at Cafe B in the beer capital of England, Jodie the manager is leaving next month, pity, she has a pleasant personalty so much so that you don’t object to paying £1.50 for a mug of coffee !!!!! Whilst there a car, parked illegally on double yellow lines was ‘booked’ by a [Rare] passing copcar. Someone in the cafe commented about the police having nothing better to do than persecute the ‘poor’ motorist. I tactfully reminded the speaker that if car owners did nt park on yellow lines or speed irresponsibly around the streets of the town, then the police would have more time to hunt down thieves and wrongdoers.
It would appear in England that if you are working class and neglect your children they are taken into care by the local authority -If you are a middle class professional you can leave 3 children in a hotel room,unattended, and the whole world sympathises when one of them disappears. What a crazy world – or is it just me?