The House Husband

Today, two years ago, Mirinda was home with the flu. Today, Mirinda was home with the flu. Of course, when I say ‘flu’ I mean she’s feeling a bit poorly. For some reason it seems to happen just before her birthday. Odd.

Anyway, because Mirinda was home feeling poorly, the planned Nicktor Night was hastily re-sheduled to next week. All was not lost, however, as we still went to the Rec to see the Shots play Swindon.

While the rain is still coming in waves (particularly big ones when I took the dogs to the park in the afternoon) and we went prepared in raincoats, the night was clear and dry though very cold. Normally I wear two pairs of socks and a fleece but, for some reason, I forgot. Nicktor laughed at my stupidity as he stood on the slab warm as toast while I gradually froze from the concrete up.

Still, my minor discomforts were quickly forgotten as the Mighty Shots took the lead after 12 minutes. A wonderfully worked goal. The ball went through the defenders like a knife through butter, leaving them melting away. A few deft and rapid passes before Danny Hylton fired at the goal. The goalie managed to parry the shot away but only as far as Mad Joe’s boot and he slotted the shot into the net.

The Slab went mad as did the East Bank. Swindon are top of the league two table and only needed a point tonight to secure promotion. Being in the middle of the table and having had a slight run of bad games, we were clearly the underdogs.

Swindon had brought a lot of travelling supporters to the game (about 1500) and they suddenly fell very silent. of course, this prompted the Shot’s fans to heap abuse on them for not singing. Chanting “Sing when you’re drawing. You only sing when you’re drawing.”

And so it remained at half time. The new electronic scoreboard told a merry tale – 1-0 to the Shots. Now all we needed was a solid, righting second half and not a game where we sat back and tried to defend our slender lead.

Things took a turn for the worse after the break. In a goal mouth scramble one of our players handled the ball and the referee did not hesitate. His finger pointed to the spot. Caddis stepped up and smashed the ball passed our keeper. The scores were tied and the Swindon fans suddenly woke up, their scarves waving, their voices trying to rise above the cacophony coming from the East Bank.

Speaking of singing…Bill was on good form tonight. He clearly has no love for Swindon (they were pretty bad during the dim, dark days of football hooliganism and we’d had a slight conversation with a couple of Swindon Neanderthals on the way to the game which probably set him up) and gave vent to his emotions by singing quite rude things relating to their ownership of farm animals and tractors. I never found out why this was relevant but it was very funny.

The game, at 1-1, became a fight for the win. The play was end to end and, while hard, always clean and fair. It was a joy to watch and a credit to both sides. By the end of the game, they knew they’d been in a good fight.

And then, a mere five minutes after the Swindon penalty and in a reversal of the earlier goal, Mad Joe passed a ball across the Swindon goal mouth, leaving the goalkeeper grasping thin air. Danny Hylton gratefully received the ball on his foot and blasted it into the roof of the net. It was a delicious moment; a fantastic goal. We were delirious.

According to Danny, during his post match interview, he’d ‘tapped’ it home. This is an interesting use of the word ‘tap’ which seems to mean ‘hit as hard as possible’. Whatever he calls it, it marked his 16th goal of the season.

There were a few more scary moments as Swindon tried to pull back the draw but we held firm and, as the final whistle blew, rose as one to cheer, applaud and generally lionise our boys. The Swindon fans, to their credit, remained in their stand and sang to their players rather than rushing to the gate to beat someone up for the loss.

A great night and a wonderful win.

After a long string of scoreless games by the (sometimes) Mighty Shots and a sudden change of three wins on the trot (which, for some unexplained reason, a radio reporter insisted on repeating as ‘on the bounce’), we went along to the Rec (I’ll never be able to call it the EBB Stadium) to see them play Southend last night.

A ticket for the Slab

It was always going to be a tough game. Southend (or Sarfend as Nicktor insists on calling them) were top of the League 2 table at the beginning of the game and known for their tough physical game. On the other hand, Aldershot were sitting in 17th position and have had a lot of players transferring in and out since Christmas. We’ve lost some talent (and some rubbish) and the new guys are still settling in.

As usual, Nicktor picked me up on his way home from work, then (after coming in to change and say hello to the poodles, who actually went out to his car to say hi when he pulled up) we went to the heaving Crimea for a pre-match pint.

I feel I have to comment on the lack of ales at the Crimea the last few times we’ve been. Last night the only choice was Hobgoblin – a nice enough choice, it should be said. This is fine but I noticed there was a lot of brands of that sissy fizzy stuff which all tastes the same. Which is odd. Real ale tastes different, depending on the brewery; lager (generally) all tastes the same…actually that’s not exactly correct because they all taste of nothing, making them tasteless.

There was a huge crowd in the pub meaning that Nicktor had to expertly elbow his way to the bar. He successfully came away with a couple of pints and we went outside, to escape the heat and overwhelming smell of football supporters. Possibly the former was largely created by the latter.

After a leisurely beer and discussion about the Cansfield’s recent trip to the frozen north and Nicktor’s future acquisition of a ridiculously expensive lens for his camera, we strolled across the road to the Rec.

It looked like it was going to be a big crowd. Lines of shuffling Shot’s shirts patiently waiting along the footpath, dribbling through the many turnstiles. It’s a lovely, warming sight at a cold February Tuesday night match. Mind you, standing in one of the queues isn’t exactly warming as the cold rises from the concrete, through your two pairs of socks and runners.

We spotted Bill in the queue ahead of us and suggested he come back and join us – he just laughed as he entered the ground. We were a little way behind him.

For this game, in order to bring in a bigger crowd, the club had decided to only charge half price for all tickets. It’s a shame they have to do this when the tickets aren’t that expensive anyway. I guess the hope is that the extra people that come to a half price match will keep coming back because it was such a good night out. Well, if this is the case, they couldn’t have picked a better match.

A highlight of the evening was the new electronic scoreboard at the west end of the pitch. As Nicktor said, it’s good having a ground with spectators on only three sides because you only need the one scoreboard. This is a recent acquisition and is sponsored by Domino’s Pizza. I mention that because Domino’s appears to be sponsoring quite a few things at the club.

One of the oddest sponsor mentions has to be the new one for substitutions. Previously, the announcer would come over the tannoy and let us know who the two players were. For instance, he might say:

The substitution for Aldershot is Wilko Risser coming on for Peter Vincenti.

Nice and clear and simple. The crowd cheers and applauds the outgoing player then cheers and applauds the new player in the hope he’ll score heavily. Instead of this, tonight it went something like this:

The substitution for Aldershot, sponsored by Domino’s Pizza, is Wilko Risser coming on for Peter Vincenti.

It made us wonder whether the club gets more money for each substitution, which may force the manager to make all his substitutions in order to get the club the maximum cash. Someone suggested perhaps the players get a pizza as they leave the ground. If this is so, we may see hungry players begging to be substituted throughout future games.

Actually, Bill was very excited that Wilko came on, even if it was late in the game. He’s a Namibian International and it’s fair to say we don’t have that may international players at Aldershot.

The game started at a furious pace with Aldershot pouring on the pressure from the kick off. It was very exciting for us on the Slab as most of the first half action was down our end with the Shots threatening to score but not quite completing any moves once they reached the box.

A lot of the problem could be laid at the Southend defence which was strong and very tall. In fact, almost all of Aldershot’s corners were deflected by one of two tall heads rising above the attack. While there was a lot of corners, the first goal came from open play.

After only 12 minutes of play, Adam Mekki drove the ball towards the goal, taking a deflection off a Southend player on the way through, wrong footing the goal keeper, and it was in the net. Huge cheers rang out around the game. A good clean, worked goal.

After the goal, you’d have thought that Southend would apply some pressure and try to get an equaliser before half time but it didn’t really happen and the players went back to their dressing rooms with Aldershot one to the good.

Nicktor had decided to blip the new scoreboard but wanted it to indicate the Shots in the lead. For him, 1-0 was pretty good so he snapped away during half time before it had a chance to change…and not in a good way. We only had HOW MANY minutes to wait after the restart.

Adam Mekki burst through the defence, on his way to the goal, forced wide by the pass. The Southend goalie went out to grab the ball. Unfortunately for the goalie, he missed the ball and brought Mekki down in a clattering heap just inside the area. The referee didn’t hesitate. He pointed directly to the spot, brushing aside the fruitless buzzing of the opposition.

Coolly and calmly, Josh Payne put the ball on the spot, took a few steps back, waited for the whistle and slammed the ball into the back of the net. A perfect penalty, delivered with confidence and skill. When you see a perfect one, it makes you wonder why the overpaid superstars miss them. OK, they can’t be easy with the pressure and expectation but even so, the guy is aiming for a pretty big target with just a skinny goalie to beat.

So, 2-0 against the top of the league and we didn’t look like losing. We still played well, passing the ball, defending the sudden onslaught which was Southend’s desperate bid to take something from the game. As Nicktor said, it was surprising they didn’t play as hard when they down only one goal and it was still the first half.

The new scoreboard ticked (actually it’s electronic so it doesn’t ‘tick’ as much as change colour but I think ‘tick’ lends a more dramatic air to the proceedings) up to 90 minutes and we looked like taking a wonderful victory. Then the fourth official held up his board to signal an extra four minutes of added time.

Which reminds me…according to Bill, the clock at the Emirates Stadium, home to Arsenal, his ‘other’ team, counts down rather than up. The match starts off at 90, runs down to 45 then, after half time, starts again, all the way to zero. I wonder how many others do this? I also wonder who Bill would support in the unlikely event that the Shots played the Gunners.

But back at the Rec in the dying minutes of the game…Southend started piling on the pressure only to be constantly rebuffed by Aldershot’s desperation to hang on to their hard fought lead. There was one rather sticky moment but the final whistle echoed around the game, followed by an almighty cheer. We’d won.
Nicktor took a shot of the full time result which he assured me would be his blip. I only had my phone with me and the photograph is rubbish so I’ve stolen a copy of his. I’m sure he won’t mind.

What a glorious sight

On the way home, we listened to Surrey Sport and the post-match interview with Dean Holdsworth (the Shot’s manager), just to bask in his reflected glory. I wonder why they bother interviewing the managers straight after a game. They are rarely coherent and just want to get to the dressing room to enjoy the celebrations. Their answers are generally short and nonsensical or merely repetitive. Still, they insist on doing it and we always have to listen.

Paul Sturrock, the Southend manager had this to say about his team’s performance:

There are certain words in football that are used quite regularly about a performance. I think gutless is the word I would have to use (this time).

Back at the house we watched a best forgotten movie called The Descent which should be re-titled Stupid Girls Go Underground and Die, followed by two episodes of Sorry before bed. We also drank some strange European alcohol from Prague and Finland, both of which made us glad we lived in a country that has whiskey and beer. Speaking of foreign alcohol…the best bit of The Descent was when Nicktor jumped and spilled his all over himself.

All in all, another memorable Nicktor Night.

I had a lovely two Cansfield day today. Lunch with Dawn followed by dinner and football with Nicktor.

As usual I met Dawn at the Mill in Haslemere where I enjoyed a pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord with 23 members of the local WI. They were quite a boisterous lot who drank bitter shandies, red wine and orange juice before tucking into big plates of fish and chips.

Blue skies over the Mill

We then headed back to Castle Cansfield for a lovely lunch of fish cakes and salad, lovingly prepared by my hostess. While we sat, ate and chatted, the rain came, giving everything a jolly good soaking before Nicktor arrived home, resplendent in his new pinstriped suit.

The suit is part of his new job image change and he looked rather dapper and, dare I say, professional. Odd when you think that when we first started having Nicktor Nights, he went to work in jeans and t-shirt. I used to think he was a frustrated IT guy.

The boys then arrived home from school in their blazers, looking like a couple of scholarly chaps in need of some homework. Nicktor and I then left for Farnham.

We decided it best that we left the car at the house and hop on a bus to Aldershot so Nicktor could enjoy a few pints over a big, hearty pub dinner. I say ‘dinner’. He actually had a big breakfast.

It was then a leisurely stroll down to the Rec, turning up 10 minutes before kick-off for the game against Burton Albion. Much more civilised than last week’s early start. Even so, there was a healthy crowd on the Slab. Due, I’m sure, to the fact that part of the deal for the Man U tickets was that spectators had to buy tickets for tonight.

The mighty Shots played a fast and furious first half, netting two wonderful goals and leaving Burton standing still. It was a great half of football (well, for us, anyway) and a lovely display after winning last Saturday 3-1. Rather strangely, the referee wore the same colour shirt as the opposition. Clearly he hadn’t checked before taking the field. It made it rather difficult to figure out which one he was.

The second half saw us slow the game a bit while Burton became more physical, trying to break through. But the couldn’t and we went on to win 2-0. The referee changed his shirt at half-time so we could actually pick him out on the field.

Actually, I’m not usually one to accuse refs of having a bad game but this guy did tonight. It was all in danger of slipping out of his control and he made a few dodgy decisions. Still, regardless of his efforts to the contrary, we won and left the ground in a joyous mood.

Our original plan was to get a taxi home but Bill offered us a lift in his new car. How could we refuse?

Back at home we watched the delightful O, Brother Where Art Thou? which, I’m glad to say, Nicktor loved, followed by an episode of the delightfully silly Sorry. Then bed.

A delightful day.

Ticket stub for Shots -v- Man U

Last weekend, Manchester United was trounced by Manchester City 6-1. It was such a big thing, even Mirinda was amazed. Such things just don’t happen. A lot of Aldershot hearts were gladdened by the result. And the excitement for tonight’s 4th round match was mounting as a result.

Nicktor heroically queued for two hours in order to secure the precious tickets and tonight we met in Aldershot, the crowds and streets at fever pitch. The queue for the East Bank stretched for miles while the overflow from the Crimea, sang songs of defiance aimed at any Man U fans that may have been wandering by. By the time we found the end of the queue for the Slab, we’d walked about half a mile.

Normally when we go to the football, it’s a leisurely affair involving a pre-match pint (or two), a wander across to the ground, a visit to the shop and then we take our places with five minutes to go before kick-off. All very civilised. Particularly given that we stand up for the duration of the game.

Tonight, however, things were a bit different. We ended up being on the Slab an hour and a half before kick-off. This is the equivalent of standing up for two complete games of football. Pretty hard on the feet. Still, we managed to get a pretty good spot down by the touch line.

James by the fence

The atmosphere was also very different from the usual game. Sky was televising it so there were cameras everywhere, including a touchline steady-cam guy who really annoyed Nicktor by standing directly between him and the action with impolite regularity. Another annoyance was the electronic advertising boards bought in especially. But I shouldn’t complain too much as it all means extra revenue for the club.

We even had some ‘entertainment’ before kick-off with half of Chas & Dave singing under a tent. And at half time we had a drum band from the army to keep us amused.

Finally it was 7:45 and the game started. It was always going to be tough. The chances of being embarrassed were very high. And although Man U fielded a less than full world class team (there was no Rooney or Ferdinand for instance) they were still a few degrees higher on the skill-o-meter.

Aldershot played out of their skins. They didn’t give up. Not once. The hunger to win was strong and never left them. It was a night to be proud of our local team. Sadly we didn’t win.

Manchester United put three by our keeper with clinical efficiency. We managed to threaten their goal a few times and we defended very well but that was it. 0-3. The end of our Carling Cup dream. For this season anyway.

Our mascot saying hello

Next door are having the pointing on the front of the house fixed up. This involves ripping out the old and replacing it with the new. Friday night, Dave came over and told me there may be a bit of dust so I should close the windows. He then visited his neighbours on the other side.

Saturday morning and the guy turned up and started work. He used some sort of grinder and created more dust than a sub-Saharan sandstorm. Poor old Sidney was changed from burgundy to dust coloured. As were quite a few other cars in the street. Here he is surrounded by dust.

Dusty Saturday

But, the most amazing thing that happened today was the Carling Cup draw for the fourth round. I never thought I’d ever see this:

Aldershot v Manchester United

Still haven’t a date yet but Nicktor & I will DEFINITELY be there.

We won at West Ham and then Carlisle came to visit us and we beat them. Tonight it was Rochdale. Instead of Sonam and Miquel, tonight we had birthday boy (tomorrow) James with us.

Given the previous two games of the Carling Cup, the crowd was very big. Queues stretching down the street as fans sensed a famous victory. Aldershot has never progressed to the 4th round of anything before so it would be one to savour. It also guarantees first dibs on tickets to the next round if you hang on to your ticket.

From the beginning we dominated them, sending shot after shot at their goal. We had everything except the one thing we needed: a goal. 3,300+ fans cheered the Shots on but it just wasn’t happening and then, with one minute to go in the first half, a mistake by one of our players put Rochdale through. With some deadly accurate passing, they moved down to the box and scored. It was heartbreaking.

Half-time was spent wondering, hope having taken a bit of a back seat. Although we dominated, they had looked very dangerous on the break. We had come from behind before; could we do it again? During the half-time team talk, manager Dean Holdsworth said “Have you got the ability to play the best 45 minutes of your lives, to write history for the football club?.” and then sent them back out to a rapturous and screaming crowd of supporters.

Rochdale kicked off and suddenly we had possession. We ran the ball down to the goal, players scrambling in the box. The ball went high and, in the middle of the crowd, Aldershot striker Michael Rankine flew into a bit of acrobatics and sent the ball into the back of the net.

He ran down to the corner flag and tried a back flip, landing on his back on the grass. The rest of the Aldershot team piled on top of him. The crowd was going insane – it was Upton Park all over again. The joy was immense, high fives and cheers were rampant.

The rest of the game was heart stoppingly exciting. Rochdale wanted the win as much as we did and they tried to beat through our defence but we managed to hold them back. There were a few scares but our back line held firm. When not defending, our attacks were full on, each looking promising only to end in nothing.

And then, with 12 minutes to go, another mad scramble in the box, the ball ricocheting in and out and Danny Hylton raised his boot and fired a wonderful volley into the back of the net. We were standing in the perfect position to watch the strike and flight of the ball. Nicktor claims he knew it was in before Danny touched it. It was a truly wonderful goal.

Shortly after the goal, we had another very good chance to make it 3-1 but it didn’t go in. Meanwhile Rochdale started attacking in earnest, pushing us back. It was desperation football. Had we been sitting down, we’d have been on the edge of our seats. What am I saying? If we’d been sitting, we’d have been standing up by now. Victory was so close.

The fourth official finally raised the board indicating there was an extra three minutes to play. We were counting the seconds as Rochdale continued fighting, cheering each time we regained possession and took the ball up the other end.

To give them their due, Rochdale didn’t stop playing. They looked like they could get the draw if the game went on much longer. Even tired legs couldn’t stop them as players fell over after kicking the ball too hard.

It was a terrifying three minutes but then, finally, the whistle blew. Aldershot had won. The crowd went crazy. It was unbelievable. It was historic. It was magnificent. This is what football is all about.

And so, Aldershot, for the first time in their history are in the fourth round. The guy on the radio as we drove home read out some of the teams for the last 16: “Arsenal, Man Utd, Stoke, Newcastle and Aldershot.” Unbelievable indeed.

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.

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.

A while ago, we planted some big poppies in the hot border. Something in the garden gave loud thanks to whatever deity insects give thanks to. Two of the poppies were devoured while still in bud. Clearly these were very specialised insects because they left the California poppies well alone, only eating the big ones. This, as you can imagine, was a bit annoying.

And then yesterday, upon my return from work, a huge red poppy, perfectly formed, greeted me from the middle of the hot border. It stands 4′ tall and the petals are massive. Mirinda reckons it was supposed to grow 5′ tall which is why it’s towards the back of the bed – to give the bed an even line of height as it progresses towards the Crazies’ fence.

The tall poppy in situ

This height difference does not matter. It stands proud and glorious, particularly in the morning sun. In fact, even Nicktor crowed about its beauty when he came over today.

Big poppy up close

In order to keep me company (I’m sure there was no other reason), Nicktor decided we should go a bit old school and have a Nicktor Day. This is where the seeds for Nicktor Nights were sown.

Ages ago, when Mirinda was still commuting, Nicktor and I would have occasional Saturdays which included breakfast at a cafe, beer at the Crimea, football at Aldershot then more beer, before staggering back to our respective homes.

With the advent of London Living, meaning Mirinda was only home on the weekend, we stopped our Nicktor Days, settling for football on Tuesday nights. Somehow this developed into him staying over and going to work from our house the following morning. Except the night it snowed so much that he couldn’t leave the next day and we had a bonus Nicktor Night.

Eventually the football became occasional and we slipped into the Nicktor Night format we now follow.

So it was a bit like revisiting the past. We met at Aldershot station and went straight to the Crimea which was pleasantly uncrowded. Being a pre-season friendly, the crowds are not what you’d call massive and this is reflected in the pub.

The football was pretty dismal. We played Brentford which, for reasons we couldn’t fathom, required a big police presence. With 200 travelling fans and about 900 home supporters, it was all very friendly – there wasn’t even any singing – and the police had a very easy afternoon.

The odd thing about about the game was the introduction of drinks breaks for the players. Halfway through each half, the ref blew his whistle and the players all headed for the bench for a 5 minute drink. We were a bit surprised they didn’t have a golf cart like they do in the cricket, with some sort of outrageous advertising on top of it.

Anyway, as I said, the game was not very good and explains why we don’t normally go to pre-season friendlies. To be fair, it was very hot and not the most ideal conditions for playing a winter sport.

After filing out we headed back to the station for the short train ride to Farnham and stopped in at the Mulberry Hotel (‘the home of the gourmet burger’) to watch the final 11 overs of the cricket over a couple of pints. This was far more pleasant than the football. Particularly watching replays of Stuart Broad’s fabulous hat trick and the Indian collapse.

Feeling peckish, the fish and chip hop across the road wove a spell around us to the extent that we went straight over and bought a delicious deep fried dinner. We sat by the River Wey and watched three young guys defying gravity with their seatless bikes while we ate.

We then walked home via the river path and Nicktor showed me the various places where he would walk home when he was but a lad growing up in Farnham. It had changed a lot (it was 30 years ago) although not the house he lived in, which he showed me.

He told me a funny story about when he was about 16 he was invited to a birthday party at the pub. Not sure about how that worked, he took beer with him. That made me laugh. A lot. I do wonder whether he’d take a plate to a birthday party at a restaurant.

Back at the house, we drank some more beer, then whisky, and watched two excellent films (for a change). The classic Lucky Number Slevin, a crime thriller with some great twists and turns. It’s one of those films (a bit like The Usual Suspects or Fight Club) that discussing the plot would ruin the film for anyone who doesn’t know it. Suffice to say that it is a great film and one I’d recommend…although it is violent so not for the squeamish.

The second film we watched was Mean Machine in which Vinnie Jones plays an ex-England football captain who ends up in prison. He winds up coaching a team of prisoners who play a game of football against the warders at the end of the movie. I remember when this first came out and thought it looked pretty bad but, having finally seen it, I have to say it was very enjoyable.

A few people think it is an English copy of the American film The Longest Yard but, rather, they are both adaptations of the same book. After looking it up, I found that The Longest Yard (the 2005 one with Adam Sandler) was actually a remake of a 1974 film called The Longest Yard (the one with Burt Reynolds) which, according to imdb.com, was far better. Even more interesting is that Burt Reynolds appeared in both versions although playing different parts…clearly.

Of course we finished the night with a couple of episodes of Sorry before retiring for the night. Nicktor had a big grin on his face because he could sleep in. The poodles were over the moon because they were allowed to sleep with me.

Last May (the 18th to be precise) I took the bus out to Frensham kennels to pick the dogs and then made the long walk home. Well, I did it again today. While the day started grey, I had been promised by the BBC that it was going to all go away by mid morning, so I set off, full of the joys of spring. And the BBC did not disappoint. The day turned out beautiful, cloudless and cold. Perfect for a long walk.

Frensham looked lovely (regardless of the fire damage that is slowly growing back) as we crossed the road and headed towards the Little Pond.

Up the hill to Frensham Little Pond

The day was alive with the sounds of birds and the distant (which quickly grew closer as we approached) clackle of chainsaws as forestry people work to strip away the dead trees. A few people were out walking their dogs and the poodles ignored all of them, being intent on keeping an eye on me in case I left them again.

Particularly Carmen, who, every now and then, would jump up at me. I guess she was making sure she wasn’t dreaming. I think she hates having to be in charge (a role she takes on if Mirinda and I aren’t around) and is just completely relieved to not have to think any more. Maybe she’s trying to tell me that Day-z was disobedient. Or perhaps she’s telling me about their holiday at the kennel. Whatever it is, neither of them were going very far from me.

We were going to stop off at the Barley Mow in Tilford for a beer (like last time) but it was closed, so we sat on the banks of the river and looked at the bridge without a beer for a ten minute rest. Not that the poodles actually rested. I am constantly amazed at their stamina. Any normal dog would have a lay down after a long hike but not our two. They are like the Duracell bunny. Without the pink fur.

One of the two Tilford bridges

After almost constant nagging, we set off again, crossing the bridge, just in time to walk passed a young girl with a black lab. She was walking the same way as us and the only reason I passed her at the beginning of the footpath was because the lab was interested in sniffing at something on the footpath post. Then, for the next half mile, amid the sounds of nature, all I could hear was her side of a conversation with her boyfriend (I assume) as she walked and talked on her phone.

We soon managed to lose her and were once more left alone with the birds, distant cars and planes flying overhead. In fact, after her we saw a guy with one of those really ugly dogs and that was it for ages. The next people we saw were at Moor Park, which they are still working on. And then we met Archie.

Archie looked like a knitted dog. He was quite obviously still a puppy with lots of bouncy energy. He very clearly wanted to play with the poodles, who weren’t having a bar of his boisterous playfulness. He was about the size of a standard poodle and jumped and ran all over the place. His owner and her son tried to get him to return to the house but he was intent on being naughty and nothing was going to stop him.

A few times we had to stop and try and grab him – the girls were excellent bait to attract him – but he was wily and managed to avoid all of us. The woman explained that he had already been for a long walk and there was no need for all the running about. As she explained this, she interjected with various versions of ‘Archie’ ranging from begging to respect-my-authority tones. Eventually the kid (a good deal smaller than Archie) managed to grab him and we parted, the poodles very glad. I liked Archie but he could do with a bit of basic training! Like his own name, for a start.

As we drew closer to the Shepherd & Flock roundabout, I spotted this pair of horses in a paddock, obviously enjoying the sun. The one on the ground is not dead…just resting. I saw it blink a number of times.

Horses enjoying the day for a change

Rather than risk the horrid traffic of the roundabouts, I was prepared to walk along the road footpath and cut up through the hospital but then found a footpath! It runs up the side of the antiques centre on the corner and connects the two roads, coming out opposite the 6 Bells pub. When I think about the awful time we had when we went via the main road in May, I could kick myself. This was much nicer. And it only slightly brushes against the council estate.

We arrived home at 2:30 and, starving, had lunch. It was then into the garden for some serious weeding (with a break to chat with Mirinda) and partial dismantling of the cairn. I stopped when I disturbed a small frog who had taken up residence among the rocks. Normally I’d just pick him up and move him but Carmen shows an unnatural interest in frogs so, as she was sitting not far away, watching me intently (in case I was planning an escape through a tunnel) I left the remainder of the cairn for tomorrow when, hopefully he’ll either have re-homed himself or Carmen will be busy elsewhere.

I know I’m going to ache tomorrow but I feel nicely exercised and particularly lifted after a hot shower. A great day.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
Last night, Nicktor & I watched Animal Kingdom, an Australian film starring Jackie Weaver, Guy Pearce and Ben Mendelsohn (amazingly evil) along with some very talented actors I’ve not heard of before. I watched it after Joanne’s recommendation when we met in Brisbane last year. It was fantastic. Nicktor loved it as well. So, thanks Jo, it was an excellent choice. xx

And, for the record, Aldershot played rubbish football last night, drawing 1-1 with Gillingham. We have another match next Tuesday so maybe I’ll be able to write something about that one because last night was just RUBBISH!