I met Mirinda at the flat today and we decided, rather than have Turkish for lunch (as we have done many times) that we would go for a walk and find somewhere different. And so we found ourselves in Limehouse and the surprisingly inappropriately named Narrow Street.

The section of the Thames Path near Mirinda has been closed for a long time due to the seemingly endless construction of a building close to Canary Wharf dock. For as long as Mirinda has been at the flat, walking to the dock has meant going via rather ugly, traffic strewn streets or making a huge detour through the Canary Wharf business district.

Last week, however, Mirinda found that the Thames Path had reopened along this section which now gives her a much more pleasant trip back to the flat, the Thames on one side all the way. In celebration, this is the way we decided to walk, which is how we found ourselves in Limehouse.

Along the way, Mirinda pointed out the various balconied flats she’d like to live in (only the ones with a river view, of course) when she tires of her present abode. This is always a pleasant exercise.

Crane like flats with massive balconies

We have both been as far as the dock but further along the Thames Path was all new to us. Where warehouses once loomed, is now flats. Each building, designed to blend in with a once largely mercantile area, now line the path, giving it all an aura of respectability and high cost. A wonderful turning bridge (the Narrow Street Swing Bridge), flats designed to look like long-removed cranes, peace and quiet broken only by the occasional jogger and cyclist. It was all very pleasant.

Limehouse Basin, the other side of the swing bridge

Through a gate (open 8am to 9pm daily) and through to Narrow Street, Limehouse.

Judging by the street names and the age of the buildings, Narrow Street has changed an awful lot since redevelopment has visited the non-river side of it. A giant seagull, mouth open in an eternal squawk, keeping company with a strange old man in a wheelchair who could almost have been left over from more seagoing days, sits in bronze glory at the head of what reminded me more of a Parisian park than something in London. This means it was covered in gravel and the trees are very sculpted.

We spotted Booty’s, a small river side pub that promised great food and real ale. A small sign informed us that while it may not serve the best food, it certainly sold the cheapest. We didn’t let this put us off and entered.

What a fantastic find! A wonderful old pub that seemed to be inhabited by the ghosts of long ago crews and pipe smoking salty dogs. At the other end to the street, a swing door opened onto the river, a ladder (I presume) leading down to anyone arriving by boat. A big Union Jack, fluttering in the breeze and the waves lapping at the underside of the building every time a ferry went by at high speed made for a wonderful lunchtime spot.

Limehouse was so named because lime kilns (Lymehostes) were built there in the fourteenth century. It has been a natural docking place since the first wharf was built in 1348. During Elizabethan times, the street was indeed extremely narrow, buildings separated by just a few metres either side of what could only be described as a lane.

We ordered jacket potatoes and I had a lovely pint of Oxford Gold (a Brakspear ale I particularly like) as we sat, looking out onto the river. We fantasised about living on the other side of the river, a boat moored in front of our house and rowing over to our local pub. Mirinda then expanded this to include me rowing her to work each day with Carmen forming the figurehead and Day-z on her lap. The thought was a pleasant one, I must say. Once I’d swapped the oars for an outboard motor.

After a lovely lunch, we wandered back to the flat, in time for Mirinda to turn around and set off once more for an after lunch business coffee with someone from the office while I headed back to the dock and the ferry home.

One sad note to the lunchtime was this rather sad and neglected pub which, I’m pretty sure, ‘Hope’ has abandoned. It looks like the owner’s held out against the modern developments happening around them but, eventually, just lost interest and moved away.

The Anchor and Hope, a bit beyond TLC

Following our victorious visit to Upton Park last week, the mighty Shots hosted the second round of the Carling (League) Cup tonight. Their opponents were Carlisle, a team that has beaten us before, though one a lot closer to us in club terms than West Ham had been. And fortunately the game was at the Rec as we didn’t really feel up to travelling the 300 odd miles north.

To say that Sonam was keen to attend would be an understatement. I thought he’d already returned to India but, the lucky chap, was still in the UK. He was to join us at Aldershot because, apart from his sparkling company and enthusiastic hand clapping, he has become our good luck charm. After all, every Aldershot game he’s seen has been a victory. For superstitious football fans, this is more than enough. It’s also better than having to wear lucky pants.

Also visiting the UK for a brief, flying visit is Miquel. Nicktor knew him at his old job. He is mostly notable (as far as I’m concerned) for escorting Nicktor to a Spanish bar during the World Cup, where they watched Spain v Portugal with all the enthusiasm of an empty room. I know this because Nicktor (on his world tour) updated me frequently with text messages. Nicktor had arranged to see Miquel, so it was a happy coincidence that his visit coincided with the second round match. I discovered that Miquel is a kindred spirit in that he loves spreadsheets as much as I do.

The plan was for all four of us to meet in the Crimea for a few pre-match beers and then wander over and cheer the mighty Shots to (hopefully) victory. Nicktor (in his lovely new Jag station wagon) picked up the others while I caught a bus. Like the true friends they are, I had a beer waiting for me when I arrived.

The talk was mostly about football as we enjoyed a few pints of forty niner (they have stopped serving 6X because, as reported by the owner of the pub, after three consecutive bad barrels, he stopped ordering it – to say I was devastated is putting it mildly) as we watched a small but determined group of Carlisle supporters arrive. These were obviously true fans. I have no idea whether they were in a coach party or had driven down themselves. One thing I can say is that they appear to be mostly bald.

At Upton Park, Sonam had clapped just as madly as the rest of us but he hadn’t joined in with the singing so we decided to stand on the East Bank and force him to. There was a bit of a crush but the ground wasn’t as crowded as it could have been (total attendance was just over 2,800 – about the same as the travelling fans to West Ham) and we found a nice spot just to the right of the goal.

Of course we had paused for an awful hotdog with onions on the way. While perusing the many sauces on offer, Sonam was a bit miffed that there wasn’t anything really, really hot and settled on tomato kechup. But this was a mere blip in the proceedings.

From the kick-off, we knew this wasn’t going to like Upton Park. While the Shots were dominant, Carlisle were very dangerous on the break, threatening to do something. Aldershot, on the other hand, played their usual brand of football, keeping the crowd on edge with their inconsistencies.

View from the East Bank, ATFC

Straker, as usual, managed to pass the ball to the other side with his normal lack of foresight. He did this with great frequency at West Ham as well and, last weekend managed to get red carded in the league game against Oxford (he was sent off in the 11th minute for bringing down Lewis Guy when he was through on goal – consistently, the same reason the West Ham player was sent off for last week). On the last three games, alone, he is looking like a liability.

Still, in general, the first half was pretty evenly balanced with both teams playing with a determination which sometimes bordered on desperation. A great moment was when Sonam started singing next to me. A true fan!

About ten minutes before the end of the half, I went to the loo (to avoid the crowds) and almost missed the greatest moment of the first half. Fortunately I could see from the edge of the ground as Luke Guttridge crossed to Michael Rankine who emphatically sent the Shots into the lead. The crowd went crazy, lifting the roof from the terrace in their joy and jubilant cheering. It was impossible to hear the referee blow his whistle for the break.

At halftime, the ground was abuzz with possibilities, chat mostly being about the possible next round against Rochdale. But chickens should never be counted prematurely. The second started with Aldershot hearts in Aldershot throats.

I have no idea what the Carlisle manager said during the halftime talk in the dressing room but I think he must have said something about how bad they were playing. He probably said it wasn’t possible to play any worse. From the beginning of the second half, the team was determined to prove him wrong. They played like a team intent on losing.

Aldershot dominated the second half completely, making the opposition look like school boys. We were loving it, willing the ball to go into the net. It wasn’t until near the end of the game that Straker took the ball on the right wing, close to the line and crossed it into the box. True to form, the ball went straight to, Carlisle player, Danny Livesey. Happily (for us) he turned the ball into his own net.

Aldershot was 2-0 up and we all went mad. Back slapping, high fives, just like Upton Park. The East Bank was delirious. Rochdale a real possibility. The game was there for us to lose because the way Carlisle was playing, they were never going to win.

Again, injury time was going to be five minutes and we watched as Carlisle did nothing and we played ‘keep the ball’. And then it was full time. The Shots had won…again. Another great night. We headed out among the happy hordes, heading for Nicktor’s new car – the really, really lovely Jag station wagon.

He had said he would drive Miquel and Sonam back so I volunteered to accompany him so he didn’t have to drive back alone. While I have to say the new Jag is a wonderful car (that’s very, very comfortable) the SatNav could be a little smarter. It seems to think the quickest way between two points is not a straight line but via the M25. Good job the Jag is such a nice car and the company so entertaining.

As we said goodbye, we told Sonam he had to return for the Rochdale game on September 20. He declared he was going to the Home Office to ensure he would.

A while ago (at the end of last year sometime) I made a post with the title ‘Gaz the Destroyer’. It concerned the fact that I had uprooted a lot of plants that I should have left in the ground. I was roundly chastised for it at the time and I do not wish to revisit the event. Actually it does get referred to from time to time but I do feel I have paid my penance and wish to move on.

Looking at the stats for this blog, as I do, I noticed there has been a lot of people searching for ‘Gaz the Destroyer’ and getting this blog. Oh, how disappointed they must be!

After a bit of detective work (actually if you put Gaz the Destroyer in Google, I come top of the list) I discovered that there’s a Youtube video of three guys hoovering a carpet to a rap song. I’m afraid I can’t report very much more about the actual song or the artists (I took very little notice of either of these) and suggest that if you really want to know, you can search for them yourself. However, the phenomenon is called ‘Dubstep Vacuuming’ and I think someone is trying to make it go viral.

In the original video, the three guys have names. The first is Gaz the Destroyer. I can only assume that this is why people keep landing on my post. So, awfully sorry, people. This is Dubstep Blogging…whatever that is.

I haven’t been able to spend a lot of time in the garden this week. What with cricket, football and rotten weather, the grass, especially, has gone a bit mad. The plan (as of Thursday anyway) was that I’d mow on Sunday morning. That way it would have all of Saturday to dry off. Of course, I was keeping my fingers and toes crossed with great expectations that it wouldn’t rain.

When our social plans were altered for today by the advent of Mirinda’s lurgy, I decided to put it off for a few hours, giving it longer to dry properly. The problem is that when I mow the grass when it’s wet, it doesn’t collect in the catcher very well but, rather, chucks great chunks all over the garden which means I have to rake. Because raking is a right pain in the butt, I never want to rake. So, logically, I wait for it to be dry.

Actually, on the way into Farnham for the second time today, I spotted a guy mowing his lawn IN the rain. Nothing odd in that, you’d think. How is that a problem? The only problem, as far as I could see, was the fact that he was using an electric mower. Call me stupid but that doesn’t seem to be very smart. Or is it waterproof electricity that’s used in electric mowers? I don’t know. Mine runs on petrol.

It may be an indication of how sad some people are but I have found a forum where the members argue vociferously about whether to mow in the rain or not. Seriously. It seems the problem is that big mowing companies can’t afford to turn down business so they mow whatever the conditions, regardless of whether it works or not. This I can understand however, why would anyone actually pay someone to mow a lawn improperly?

Here’s a short quote from the forum. I thought it worth including as I don’t really understand much of it.

When the grass is wet I have a problem with grass clippings getting stuck under the deck, I use Raptor mulching blades with a scag 36″ w/b ….. I here the blades hitting the stuck clippings.. I try avoiding cutting when wet. Never when it’s raining…..

However, something that concerns me more than grass clippings under the deck is how stupid does someone have to be to mow in the rain with an electric mower? And it wasn’t spitting, either. The rain was seriously coming down. I was drenched so I can vouch for it.

That was the problem, actually. It rained a couple of times on and off through the day, separated by teasing blue skies and sunshine. Of course, all gardeners will know what this means: the grass never actually gets dry. And so, consequently, I didn’t mow. At present, I’m looking at Plan C – mow tomorrow.

The Borough, Farnham, rain threatening

Mirinda has spent the day in bed. Well, most of it. And she’s feeling much better. We’re hoping she’ll be able to spend some time outside tomorrow.

Mirinda is very ill at the moment. So ill, she hasn’t come home from the flat. Believe me when I say, THAT is pretty ill. We thought she’d be home this afternoon but she has slipped back downhill and will probably stay in bed. Meanwhile I am holding the fort. Well, if you can describe a dolls house with two miniature poodles a fort.

First thing this morning saw the replanting of the sink into the bathroom top. It was a bit of a struggle (the access for the pipe is somewhat limited and my hand somewhat too big) and I had to have two goes at it (the first time I cross threaded it and when I turned the tap on, drenched everything) but it was eventually complete.

Given I’m such a lousy plumber I tend to be very careful and somewhat over-zealous but I always recall the advice Cowboy gave me all those years ago. I therefore remembered to use plumber’s tape to seal the thread, something the person who originally built the bathroom seems to have ignored. In fact, the thread was covered in silicone sealant instead! This would explain why it was so difficult to get off in the first place.

Sadly I didn’t take a ‘before’ photo of the top. it was looking a bit sad. The varnish had chipped off all over the place and the wood was all but bare. Anyway, here’s how it looks now.

Bathroom top after a bit of renovation

After struggling with the sink, I set to cleaning the bathroom, finding bits of wood dust everywhere. I’m happy to report that it now looks like a new bathroom. Well, the top anyway. Mirinda helpfully suggested I should now paint the entire room. To be fair, it wouldn’t hurt.

After lunch and walk up the park which saw two FSIs (one each) and a consequential bath, I decided to spend some time in the garden in preparation for a visit from Ben, Monali, Imogen and Saffron. This was planned for tomorrow. A day in the country, pub, walk, cricket and swings (the latter for Imogen). Everyone was looking forward to it. Sadly, due to emergency quarantine restrictions, we had to cancel.

As reported earlier, I’m delighted with the progress of my hand sown borage. It continues to thrive. I think the pixies must be looking after the plants. I’m pretty sure they use the flowers for hats and the leaves in their tea so it’s seriously in their own interests for them to grow well and fruitful.

I can now report that the first flower has emerged! It looks a bit lonely but, given the amount of buds on the other plants, I reckon there’ll be a more solid covering of blooms soon.

Our first borage flower

Speaking of dogs…which I wasn’t really but figured it was as good a change of subject as any…Carmen spent most of my garden time near me, chewing on a ham bone – between the occasional growl at her sister if she came within twenty yards of her.

The bone is all that remains of two ginormous ham bones I gave them Friday morning. They were bigger than their heads and I’m amazed Day-z could pick hers up. Carmen, of course, started eating hers in her bed so had no need for carrying. Day-z, however, took hers out of my hand and stressed her neck muscles getting it outside.

Before returning home last night, I suggested to Mirinda that Day-z would have eventually claimed them both. After the usual leaping and licking at my arrival home, Day-z quickly disappeared around the side of the house. I followed her and, sure enough, there were both the bones. I like to think that hopefully Carmen managed to eat a bit of one of them before it was stolen.

A little later, after posting last night’s blog post, I started to go downstairs. Sometimes the dogs go mad and start jumping up and down at me, threatening to push me down the stairs. This is their way of saying they want a wrestle. I sat on the top step and complied.

Wrestling usually means playing with them with one hand each while they bounce back and forth. Carmen, however, had a cunning plan. After distracting both Day-z and me, she dashed downstairs without a backward glance. I just played with Day-z for a bit and then continued going downstairs. Just outside the back door, under the herb table, arse in the air, was Carmen, chewing eagerly on the retrieved bone.

Day-z did not look amused when she realised what had happened and how easily she’d been tricked. She approached but quickly backed off when the growls started. I showed Day-z the other bone but, of course, she wanted the one her sister had.

And now, there is only one left. I have no idea what they have done with the other. I’ve searched but can’t find it. The one Carmen was chewing is all but gone, covered with flies when she leaves it for a second. I’m sure the mower will find the other one eventually.

Small bloom on the fuchsia we thought was dead

As it turned out, Mirinda came home at about 8:30. She was feeling slightly better. I read her a couple of peculiar fairy stories and she slipped off to sleep.

I had a couple of People records to complete first thing this morning. For one I was waiting for an email but the other I just completely missed last week. It’s beyond me how I did that. As I explained to Nick, I was so engrossed in researching the potash mines that the artist, Len Tabner was simply forgotten.

I had a lovely informative email in my inbox from a chap who used to be the vice chairman of the Ellenroad Spinning Mill Trust, giving me some terrific details. These two records took me about half an hour and then I was back to updating the Prime catalogue of records; slowly working my way through the 900+ pages of old pre-MIMSY records.

I can’t remember how long ago I last looked at this massive document but it took me a little while to actually understand it. And then I realised that my days of quick, easy researching had ended. The PRIME records are sparse; the MIMSY imported versions even worse. Still, it’s better than updating thousands of nipple shield records.

The highlight of the day was discovering the joys of submarines. The Science Museum holds a load of blueprints dating back to the 1800s of submarines. They are drawings for the ones designed by the Swedish submarine king Thorvald Nordenfelt.

Apparently, the first mention of something that could be a submarine dates back to 1580. Milliam Bourne, a pub landlord spoke about a boat that could work underwater. It all sounds like a bloke standing at the bar spouting forth to his mates about the possibility of underwater boating. I do that sort of thing all the time when I’m drunk. I don’t see they’d have been any different in the 16th century.

I also read about the submarine that the Greek navy purchased in order to use against the Turks. They weren’t happy about that (the Turks) so they bought the next model up from the one the Greeks bought. The thing is, the Greeks never used theirs and the Turkish submarine had a test run of the torpedoes which ended up with the submarine upending and sinking to bottom. Chalk that one up to capitalism. I rather like the idea that the two opposing navies bought their submarines from the same company. I should mention that this happened in 1886.

As I read copious reams of submarine related material, the sky decided to chuck prodigious amounts of rain onto the basement skylight. I’m happy to report that it works an awful lot better than the old one. Actually, the old one leaked and the new one doesn’t and that’s more than an improvement if you ask me.

Coincidentally, the time was also approaching lunch and Ailsa wished me well as I ventured forth. I was tempted to stay in the museum but, as I was climbing the stairs to street level, the sun came out and the rain stopped. I decided to visit the V&A.

My first stop was the Indian statues. I wanted to find out what the story was regarding Krishna and the magic wishing tree as I mentioned it in last Friday’s post.

Krishna and the magic wishing tree

The story is quite mad. Apparently Krishna and Satyabhama were on some sacred mission to return some stolen earrings when Satyabhama spotted this amazing tree (the parijata) that grew in heaven and belonged to Indra. Satyabhama asked Krishna to nick it, the idea being to replant it at their place in Dwarka. Naturally, Indra wasn’t happy and so he and Krishna started to mix it up a bit. Krishna won but Satyabhama told him to leave the tree, that she was only trying to upset Indra’s wife Sachi. I mean, what the hell is that about?

To be completely honest, I reckon it looks like Adam and Eve and the tree of knowledge.

I then spotted a wonderful display of Japanese netsuke. We love these tiny bone sculptures. They are so impossibly intricate and yet so small.

Kintoki & Yamauba

This one represents Kintoki and his foster mother Yamauba. Kintoki was a super child, raised in the mountains and many believed he was raised by a mountain ogress (they sort of hang around and eat human beings) which is who (or what) Yamauba is.

Agh, rats!

And this one is amusingly titled Thwarted Ratcatcher. Clearly he’s not very good.

I could have stood looking at them for ages but the other visitors to the museum were getting a bit impatient behind me so I continued on to the silver gallery where I walked passed Karen’s little office, saddened that she wasn’t there, before turning round and going back to work. And more submarines. And Barbara’s crisps.

I had a number of texts from Mirinda who has been suffering with an upset tummy all day. Wishing to escape the crunching noises, I went up the stairwell to ring her. This is where everyone goes to make personal calls, which is seriously weird because it’s just a giant echo chamber.

Anyway, I suggested to Mirinda that she should have a teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda in a glass of water. She thought I was joking. She bought some goopy stuff instead, which contained…bicarbonate of soda. She may stay in the flat tonight if she doesn’t improve. Apart from how she feels, it might be wise given the weather.

An interesting note…I just read the post for 26 August last year and it rained then as well.

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How do people read and listen to music at the same time? It’s not a trick I’ve mastered but I see people on the train doing it all the time. Perhaps they’re listening to classical music. I’ll probably never find out. For my part, I end up being transported by the music and completely forget I’m reading. Usually after reading the same page about eight times. Then I turn the music off or close the book.

The last time Aldershot travelled to Upton Park to play West Ham they were beaten solidly 6-1. That was in 1991. While the Hammers were relegated from the Premier League last season and now play in the Championship, they are still two leagues above the mighty Shots. Even so, when Aldershot drew West Ham away in the Carling Cup, we thought we’d go and show our support.

At first the game was scheduled for a night that Nicktor would be in Crete but then the London riots intervened and the game was postponed. It was re-scheduled for tonight – you could hear Nicktor whoop with glee from Greece.

And so we met at Waterloo at 3:15 and wandered over to the King’s Arms for a few pre-game pints. We had a jolly time discussing the best places to drink in York with an American who lives in Mexico and is visiting England. When we told him about the game and how important it was, he asked whether we’d placed a bet on Aldershot to win. We laughed with derision and assured him, we’d lose.

The result was such a foregone conclusion that West Ham had already printed the tickets, ready for the next round.

The plan was to meet Sonam (who, following his first cricket match on Monday was now going to be treated to his first English football game) at Waterloo at around 6pm so we wandered over, making a point to pop our heads into the Hole in the Wall pub.

The travelling fans (who were not on one of the 11 coaches from Aldershot) were meeting at this small pub. There was quite a sizeable crowd on the footpath outside while inside it was heaving with supporter’s shirts. We couldn’t have bought a beer if we’d tried.

Under the clock at Waterloo we watched as Shots fan appeared on trains and vanished down to the Jubilee Line. Generally I watch fans in their Arsenal, Spurs, Chelsea or England shirts milling about on the way to games but this was quite stirring.

On the Shots site, it was written that 1500 tickets had already been sold for the game. Nicktor estimated there would probably be at least another 500 buying at the gate (of which we were three). It felt like most of them were at Waterloo.

When Sonam met us we joined a big mob of Aldershot fans, ploughing through the commuters, singing and smiling and giving high fives to charity workers along the way to the Tube. Singing down the escalators, making as much noise as possible, must have sounded pretty scary to the people caught in the middle but for us, it was glorious. We were on our way to a massive game, to support our team. We were joyous. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

The platform was alive with red shirts, still singing and cheering. We hopped onto the first train to arrive, crowding in with the commuters. The bulk of the fans waited for the next one. As we pulled into Canary Wharf we were told to change for the train following. We stood and waited.

The indicator board said the train would arrive in three minutes. Beneath the indicator was the time. It was an awfully long three minutes. We counted at least five while we stood there.

When the train finally arrived (packed with Shots fans) we were told it had been stopped and the fans told to keep it down. They were being very loud and thumping the roof of the train. The transport police were not amused. By the looks on the faces of the normal travellers, I’d say they weren’t particularly pleased either.

Eventually we arrived at Upton Park station, to a flowing crowd of football fans streaming down the high street like a river of claret and red and blue. It was all very good natured as fans from both sides mingled on the way to the ground.

We joined an extremely long queue for the turnstiles and gradually shuffled forwards. Upton Park is a Premiership stadium, seating over 35,000 at capacity. It felt like they were all queueing for tickets with us.

It took a while but eventually we were standing in the back row of the visitors end, already singing and cheering before the team actually took to the pitch. Here’s a few reserves, warming up.

Pre-game warm up at Upton Park

And then the game started and the noise increased to fever pitch. From the beginning, Aldershot played like a team possessed. They had the greater amount of play, making the West Ham players look like a bunch of skittles, rooted to the spot. It was glorious to watch. Our passes were completed, chances were tried. It all increased the noise coming from our end.

And then West Ham scored. Out of nowhere. It was possibly one of their first attacks on us and they went through us like a knife through butter, showing the difference in wages and skill. Cold and efficiently, it was quickly 1-0.

The scoreline at half time

That didn’t lessen the din coming from the Aldershot faithful. We couldn’t hear the West Ham fans as we continued singing and taunting them with “We can’t hear you singing” and a few less savoury suggestions involving possible uses for bubbles.

Half-time arrived and we sat down. There was no possible way of getting downstairs to visit food or beer counters given that a wall of Aldershot supporters stood between us and them. We discussed the first half in glowing terms. The Shots had played out of their skins. The biggest fear would be that they returned exhausted, allowing West Ham to dominate after the break and push home their advantage to a good solid thrashing.

Bobbies keeping us honest during the half time break

We stood up again as the players retook the field. Aldershot were now attacking the goal directly below us. The singing started in earnest once more with frequent gestures of defiance directed towards the West Ham fans.

Shortly after the restart, there was a horrendous tackle just outside the box on Danny Hylton. The referee didn’t hesitate. He reached into his pocket and held his red card high. We loudly sang “Cheerio” and waved vigorously as West Ham’s Callum McNaughton left the pitch, head bowed. I thought it rather impolite that he didn’t wave back.

After this, Aldershot kept piling on the pressure while it seemed that West Ham was merely trying to slow the tempo and play defensively, holding onto the narrow one goal advantage. And then it happened.

With about 12 minutes to go, a mad scuffle around the goal below us and we scored. The players went crazy, all of them piling on top of Gutteridge (the scorer). The crowd went crazier. There was lots of jumping up and down, strangers bashing each other in joy, high fives and tens freely flowing. It was joy unconfined.

I have never felt anything like this level of elation. It was palpable. You could reach out and pull it around you like a rather noisy duvet.

West Ham suddenly realised they now had to fight back and they poured on the pressure. A draw at full-time would mean extra time and then a penalty shoot out (and no-one wants that). The singing grew and we watched the West Ham fans start to flow out of the stadium, disappointed with their team, I can only assume.

If the first goal was electric, the second was nuclear. Danny Hylton slotted home Aldershot’s second goal on 89 minutes. I’m sure the stand above us was bouncing up and down with the noise. 2,500 supporters sounded like 50,000. We were in front. It seemed so impossible. Nicktor’s face was a mixture of disbelief and sheer ecstasy.

The board for injury time went up, announcing five minutes more to be played. To our left, the few West Ham supports left possibly saw this as an opportunity to at least take it to a draw. So many times a lesser league team has come a-cropper in the final moments of injury time.

Hearts in throats but still screaming encouragement, we watched as Aldershot kept control of the ball, frustrating the opposition. And then…the unthinkable. At the other end, after some sharp one touch passing, a shot on our goal. We watched, tears starting to form as the net quivered. To have victory snatched so cruelly. We had dominated, had controlled the game. And then this.

Suddenly we realised the ball had hit the netting from the outside. The shot had been wide. Very quickly the whistles started around us (including us), urging the referee to end this wonderful display. And finally, thankfully, he did.

Aldershot had achieved the impossible. We won 2-1, playing the under dog to perfection. Never letting up, never ending the pressure. The team were ecstatic, the crowd was insane. I will never forget it. This was the greatest game of football I have ever seen. Sonam said he would never forget it. Nicktor looked delirious.

Eventually we left the stadium, surrounded by happy, singing supporters, keeping the locals awake with our joy. The noise didn’t end on the streets. The Tube, Waterloo station and, finally, the train home. people were still singing about the wonderful victory. I felt on top of the world, proudly wearing my Shot’s shirt.

A vague memory of the chap we chatted to in the King’s Arms appeared with his suggestion we should place a bet on the Shots to win. I can hear him chuckling as he read the result in the paper. I’m also not sure what West Ham is going to do with all the tickets they stupidly printed.

There is something terribly satisfying about renewing an old bathroom top. It’s also very, very messy. Three hours to strip it, half an hour to stain it, an hour to clean up afterwards. I still have the varnishing to go but that has to wait for the stain to finish staining properly. I have to keep reminding myself not to turn the tap on seeing as the bowl is presently in the hallway.

Sanding the bathroom top

Mind you, it’s an excellent job for when the weather is foul, as it was all day. I am really glad it wasn’t as miserable yesterday – would have ruined the cricket! Mirinda asked me if they still play cricket when it’s raining. This was rather surprising because she’s never shown an interest in cricket before. I admit, I did laugh a bit.

In an amazing bit of news, Mirinda bought Day-z a new celebration toy yesterday. Actually, she bought four but she can only get one in her mouth at a time. She ran and found it when I arrived home last night. She seems to have forgotten her old one (in two bits). We think because the new one has a squeak that works.

In fact, this morning, she ran outside with her new toy and tripped over her old one. She stopped, looked back at it, thought about it for about a millisecond then ignored it as she ran outside with the new one squeaking dementedly in her mouth.

A new celebration toy for Day-z

So my day was filled with brown dust, smelly stain, Day-z squeaking and not much else. I did quite like the effect of the rain on the gladdies so include this photo.

I should add that it wasn’t really this bright – I used the flash!

And, of course, I can’t forget the best news of the day – Claire ate jelly today!!!!

Today I overheard someone talking on a phone, obviously giving directions:

“If you keep walking, you’ll find me,” she said and then paused to listen.
“Near gate 22,” she said and then paused to listen.
“No! Just keep walking! You’ll reach me eventually,” she said and then listened.
“Of course you will! Because it’s round. It’s like a circle except it’s oval. Like an egg. But if you keep walking in either direction, you’ll find me!”

I’m not sure it’s actually occurred to me that an oval is called an oval because it is oval shaped, like an egg. I’m also certain that the Oval in Vauxhall is also called the oval because it’s oval shaped, which it is. And I can vouch for the shape because I walked around it today.

I found myself at the cricket this morning. This wasn’t a pleasant little accident but a carefully planned excursion. Nicktor had suggested it a while ago but then not been able to book the tickets, which I did while he was in Greece. I’m very, very glad I did.

We were six: Me, Nicktor & Matt, Stuart & Joe and Sonam. Stuart is a friend of Nicktor, and Joe is his son. Sonam is a guy who works (sort of) for Syngenta in an off-shore capacity. He is from India and has been over here for six months for training. When Nicktor suggested going to cricket, he jumped at the chance…being Indian. And we’d come to see the fifth day of the fourth (and final) cricket test – England v India.

The seats were fantastic. I should clarify, they weren’t particularly comfortable (they never are) but their position was wonderful.

The Oval

And what a difference to the cricket we go up north for. Much more civilised. You get to actually watch the cricket for a start. None of the stupid fancy dress either. More about the cricket and less about showing off for your mates. Even the beer, food and toilet queues were shorter.

To top it all off, England trounced India but not before a fine morning session of batting by Tendulkar (in his final international test match) and Mishra (an excellent night watchman). It was a bit sad because Tendulkar was aiming for his 100th 100 but was out LBW for 91. The crowd, every man Jack of them, stood and applauded a fine batsman, as he left the pitch.

That is when cricket transcends all other sports; that is why it is so special and why test cricket must never disappear. It doesn’t matter who you support, the game is the thing and when a player from either side, does something special, the praise is universal.

Mishra batted very well but he went soon after the lunch break, followed by Tendulkar and then it all fell apart for India. Wickets fell as the batsmen tried to at least equal the England first innings score. They didn’t manage it and England won by an innings and 8 runs.

England fielding, the Oval

It was a very successful series for England. They beat India 4-0! I seriously think this is one of the best English test teams I’ve ever seen. They play very, very well together. I do think it’s a pity that two of the players are not actually English, however, ignoring them, the team is very solid.

Anyway, apart from that, this was Sonam’s very first test cricket match…EVER! He was like a kid in a sweet shop. He loved it (ok, he wasn’t that keen on the result but even so) and took about a thousand photographs.

All round a fabulous day, thoroughly enjoyed by all of us…well, to be completely accurate, the two boys did get a bit restless around 3:30 but it was very hot and they are very young. And they did perk up when we left.

The view from Nicktor's sunnies

As we managed to fit three days into yesterday, we decided to take it easy today and spent the day at home. Mirinda with her studying, me with…well just pottering, really.

We did go for a walk at Hankley late on. It looked lovely in the late afternoon sun.. The heather was all out, looking fresh and pinkish purple. This week, I made sure I had a card in my camera!

Heather at Hankley

As we walked we spotted, what looked like, two cheese scones in the path. This was a bit odd. I bent down and realised they were actually a couple of fungi, to all intents and purposes, out for a day in the country. We were quite amazed that someone (or thing) hadn’t kicked them over, squashed them or otherwise disturbed their progress across the path – given that fungus travels so slowly.

Scones or mushrooms?

They are actually a type of puff ball fungus which have shot their loads, which is how they spread their spores. That’s why they are open at the top.

The heather from the ridge, Hankley

We also watched Fire Walk With Me, in two parts today. It is the prequel to Twin Peaks and is seriously disturbed. Because it’s over two hours long, we watched half at lunch and finished it with dinner. It filled some holes but then created a whole lot more. David Lynch does like his obscure puzzles. Mirinda is not so keen.