The House Husband

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

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!

Another Nicktor Night was taken last night and we were off to see Aldershot battle Barnet. Generally, Nicktor arrives at about 6pm and we get to the Crimea as soon as his wheels can get us there for a few pre-match pints. However, this week he had a telecon (basically a telephone call) with Switzerland scheduled for 4:30pm and another at 5:30pm so, rather than stay back at the office and not get to me until after the match had started with no chance of beers, he came over early.

I busied myself with the usual housekeeping while he nattered away, growling and griping occasionally as the Swiss insisted he add another 48 tasks to his already over loaded work. He has his Blackberry on speaker so I got to hear a load of tinny voices.

Eventually he was off the phone and we were off to the Crimea where he decided to pour his pint over the guy standing next to us. Actually, I think it was intended for me but I was way too quick for him. A sad waste of 6X if you ask me. The barman was very philosophical, mopping up and replacing the bar mat with one he’d prepared earlier. As Nicktor said, “This happens a lot, eh. Though possibly not during the first drink.” What jolly wet fun!

After making friends so convincingly, we then had a football inspired chat to the guy next to us. This involved the usual Aldershot moans at losses and cheers at wins. The appalling Crawley Football Club and their nefarious dealings also made a big appearance in the discussion. But very soon, the kick-off was almost upon us so we left the pub for the ground.

We’ve been standing on the Slab for a while now having eschewed the glories of the East Bank for some unknown reason. Actually, it started when we had the kids with us and we’ve just stayed on. Besides, Nicktor knows a few of the old timers. The Slab (or South Stand) is where ‘serious’ non-singing fans congregate and discuss the game seriously. Well, that’s how it appears to me, anyway. There is seriously little singing.

The first half started with a bit of promise and flair, though, for some reason known only to the players and manager, the Shot’s players were back to playing their hoofing game. This calls for players to hoof the ball from one end of the pitch to the other without any particular player targeted for the ball. It never works and tends to result in giving away possession over and over again. They play much better when they keep the ball on the ground and make snap passes to each other. After the game we heard an interview with the manager who thought they played really well in the first half. I’m not sure what game he was watching. Perhaps a video of an earlier match.

About halfway through the first half, a light fog started to appear at the other end of the ground, slowly engulfing first the goal and then the players. Barnet were wearing white so they disappeared first but then, as the fog grew heavier, the Aldershot players, in red and blue, also started fading away as they charged up-field.

Barnet scored quite early on and we managed to draw level quite late on. We didn’t know we had equalised until the East Bank roared with pleasure which prompted us to echo the cry. This actually happened twice but the first one was considered offside and, therefore, disallowed. By the time the first half drew to a close, the far end of the pitch was invisible.

We went to buy tea, as we normally do, and stood around waiting for the second half. During the break, there is a competition where two lads (one from the away supporters, one from ours) have to try and hit a board suspended from the crossbar of the goal with a ball from the penalty spot. They win money if they manage it. They clearly had very good fog sense because one of them managed it and took away £75. They guy with the microphone praised their ability to kick into the white hole that the goal mouth had become.

Half-time was drawing to a close when the announcement we dreaded was made. The game had been abandoned on health and safety grounds. Health and safety? How can fog endanger health and safety? Snow and torrential rain, lightening or terrorist attacks I can understand, but fog? I appreciate that the linesmen possibly couldn’t see each other or the ref…or the players and for this reason I’d accept an abandonment but health and safety? It’s a bit sad.

Nicktor tells a story of a game he attended when he was but a lad. he was sitting on the grass by the half way line, surrounded by about 10,000 fans and the fog was so thick he couldn’t see a thing except ghostly figures whenever the players went back and forth. That game wasn’t abandoned! We are really getting to be a sad old risk averse society.

Anyway, we joined the disgruntled ranks streaming out of the ground, checking we still had our tickets in order to gain entry at a later date for the rescheduled game. A chap near us was not impressed. He’d been at a conference in Birmingham and had driven all the way down in order to see the game only to arrive about 10 minutes before half time. He actually missed the equalising goal, though that could have been because of the fog. And then, 20 minutes later, he was having to leave. Poor thing.

We reclaimed the car and completely devoid of any sort of emotion (joy at victory or sorrow at loss) we drove back to the Farnham. Fortunately the whisky cheered us up.

Farnham Park is just a covering for a massive underwater lake. The rain sits on the ground and gradually seeps down, through the chalk, purifying as it goes, and slowly drips into the lake. The lake is then slowly emptied through openings into the land. These openings are (generally) the beginnings of streams and rivers. If memory serves me right, I think this is how the Thames starts. This is all very good and ensures an excellent supply of freshly cleaned water to the surrounding countryside.

In winter, when there’s a lot of rain, the ground is very squishy under foot and there’s a lot of mud. This is because the ground is saturated, meaning the rate of absorption is too slow to allow all the water through at once. And so there’s a lot of it left around. Eventually this does seep through, leaving lush green hills and solid ground.

It is a very important part of nature’s cycle of life, ensuring that rainwater is spread out across a greater area rather than just drench one spot. However, the wonder of the aquifer is what causes it’s greatest annoyance.

Today, Carmen decided we would visit the oak tree walk. We were unable to walk up it directly due to the fact that, where it wasn’t knee deep mud, it was flowing streams of rainwater. All three of us were very muddy by the time we returned home. Combine that with Day-z’s FSI (which I think was ‘baby’ rather than ‘fox’) and you can imagine our bathtub.

Still…the avenue of trees looked good:

Avenue of Trees, Farnham Park

I always like this view, knowing there’s a castle at the other end. It’s always regardless of the season. It invites you in. Just like the Hop Blossom pub!

The Hop Blossom, Farnham

Given the beautiful blue sky behind it, I couldn’t resist taking this photo this morning. Farnham was well known for its hops. They were first introduced shortly before 1600 and by the 1800s were considered the best in the country! This pub is one of the few reminders remaining.

But enough about Farnham! I need to talk about Aldershot.

Last night, of course, was the first Nicktor Night for ages and, to celebrate, we went to see Aldershot play Bradford. I did not have high hopes. The Shots have not had the best of seasons so far and only last week they sacked the manager (Kevin Dillon) and replaced him with a new one (Dean Holdsworth).

Clearly this was the thing to do as they came out fighting, completely dominating the first half. They played like a team that wanted to rise above being third from the bottom of the table. At half time it was 1-0 and Bradford didn’t look like getting a look in.

The second half, Aldershot slipped back into their sloppy habit of the wayward passes to anyone wearing an opposition shirt. Fortunately (for us, not Bradford) our back line held strong and managed to defy anything Bradford tried to throw at us. Even the 70 foot giant they had on their team.

It was a satisfying game and we enjoyed the win. Back at home, we watched one of the worst movies I’ve seen in a long time. It’s called…actually, I don’t think I’ll even bother naming it. It was appalling. The writer/director/editor wanted to recreate a 1980s horror flick (you gotta ask why) and did so very effectively. So effectively, it was just crap.

Although the film was rubbish, we had a lovely Nicktor Night, consumed too much whisky and went to bed far too late. Poor Nicktor had an important day of meetings and presentations after very little sleep. I haven’t heard how he went. Hopefully he managed.

We had a lovely Nicktor night spent watching The Usual Suspects (Nicktor had never seen it and loved it) and The Business (a Brit gangster film we’d never heard of but was ok and had an excellent 80s soundtrack).

Next door (not the Crazies, but the other side) had the daughter’s usual birthday party which always ends with fireworks, so I knew the dogs would get spooked. Nicktor was amazed. Apparently Basil & Polly just bark at them. I had both Carmen and Day-z pressed hard up against me, making me pat and calm them. They kept this up all the time the fireworks were going on and for quite a while afterwards. Eventually Carmen moved but only as far as the back of the lounge and within patting range.

Of course, being a party, they played music (the Triumphal March from Aida for the fireworks – a bit posh!) which inspired us to spin a few metaphorical disks ourselves. We sang on into the night, long after the party fiends had left. We battered Bat Out of Hell, stunned Stairway to Heaven, wallowed in Wish You Were Here. It was gloriously tuneless and lots of fun. We even had a go at out-ruining Sid Vicious’s version of My Way using candlesticks for microphones.

When parting this morning, Nicktor suggested we go to the Aldershot game at the Rec. We would be properly chaperoned by the boys so there’d be no beer or terraces. Pity. It may have been helped with a few pints.

James brought his mate Harry along, who is one crazy kid! A real card. Poor Nicktor had no idea what he was saying half the time. I thought he was very funny. Cracked me up, anyway. However, as for the game…

The ref was a bit sloppy and inconsistent, if you ask me. He sent two of our players off and didn’t send off a Bury player for a worse foul on one of our players. He also sent our manager to the stands but this decision he managed to get right.

Still, although we lost 3-1, we were playing with only 9 men and fought to the bitter end. The last few games I’ve been to, Aldershot have not played very well but today they should be proud.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
I took the poodles up to the park between showers today. It was one of those odd cloudless raining days. The kind where everything is sun drenched with streaks of rain falling through it. Quite odd but, thankfully, not heavy. I took a few photos to show the real autumn colours we are getting now.

I’m quite pleased with this one:

Farnham Park in autumn

This is the cherry tree in our back garden. Every time the sun hits the leaves, they are like fire. Gorgeous.

Our cherry tree

Last night I went to the Rec and watched Aldershot for the first time this season. In not entirely a night of surprises, they lost, 3-0, to Watford in the first round of the Carling Cup. We were totally outclassed by a much better team. I guess that’s something. It’s not like we played really badly just not well enough. And, really, what did we really expect? Watford is two leagues above us after all.

What was a surprise was who I went with. I thought it was just going to be Nicktor, James and me until the car pulled up outside with Frank driving. And his son and Matt in the back. That was odd for a start. James loves Aldershot but Matt is less than enthusiastic at the best of times. Still, we drove to the car park and started walking to the Crimea for the usual pre-game pint of that perfect of all beers, 6X.

Along the way we collected a few more people. Two guys from Nicktor’s road and their sons and James. Five kids, five adults.

Five pints and five cokes later, we crossed over the road and headed for the Slab. I’d already assumed we’d not be in the East Bank because we’d have James with us so it wasn’t a surprise when we headed that way.

Nicktor’s re-flared gout was causing him to limp a bit so that caused some hilarity, which grew in direct ratio to the increase in pain. He’s a medical anomaly. It’s far too soon for a relapse. It’s a good job he wasn’t called on to run around the pitch. It was noticeable his discomfort increased dramatically over the course of the evening. By the time we were ready to walk back to the car, he looked like one of the walking wounded from the Charge of the Light Brigade. Or perhaps his body was unhappy it wouldn’t be spending the night at our place.

A bit of an unexpected treat awaited us as we entered the ground. The young guy who bashes the drum relentlessly during every home match was standing against the fence having a few tentative thumps as the rest of the raucous orchestra met up with him. It was observed by one of our party that he looked rather menacing, presumably on the lookout for rival drummers.

The day had been wet throughout, off and on, so standing on an exposed slab of concrete for a couple of hours was bound to attract a certain amount of damp. I’m pretty sure this is one of those immutable laws, like the one that Murphy came up with. Something like: “If there’s a chance of rain and a large gathering of people all stand on a big slab of concrete, they’ll be rained on.” And we were. A number of times.

Not that it was very wet. It was a series of English showers, the type of rain that doesn’t actually make you wet. I like to think of it as thick mist. It was quite noticeable on the pitch, though. Sprays of water came off the ball every time it was kicked and the ground was rather slushy.

The one good thing about being on the Slab is that you’re really close to the action, albeit only one bit near the southern touch line. The boys all lined up against the fence and shouted rude things at the opposition players as they pummelled our goal mouth in the first half. By the time Watford had finished us off at the beginning of the second half, the boys were telling jokes and talking to me about games.

It’s amazing how kids (make that, boys) react when someone tells them I tested games for a living. They get all excited and suddenly you’re the coolest adult they know. They then insist on comparing notes on the newest and most violent games on the market. Fortunately Stevie keeps me in the loop about these things so I can generally manage to keep up with them. Though it did make me yearn a bit for my old job. Though not with Cowabunga, of course. I should add that the other part of my job is generally drooled over by any male adults who find out.

Anyway, the game dribbled away as we chatted about Ultimate Assassin (the comedy version) and GTA – I managed to get a plug in for Smuggler’s Run, a particular favourite that Stevie and I spent many hours completing. It’s a bit Old School these days but still a great game, nevertheless. The final whistle gratefully blew before Watford could humiliate us further and we headed for home.

Actually, Aldershot managed a bit of a late flurry but to no avail and they remained with no goals. To be absolutely fair, they didn’t play badly. I have been at some games where they seemed to have sent a load of replacements on the pitch, possibly the local limbless darts team, but this was not one of those. We were, quite simply, outclassed. So, no need to be miserable, lads! At least it’s one competition we don’t have to worry about for the rest of the season.

The company was fun and it’s always good to go and watch football. It was also a chance to catch up with Nicktor who I’ve missed over the last couple of weeks due to the temporary suspension of Nicktor Nights. The Cansfields are off to France next week (entirely coincidental, I hasten to add) so we organised for our next NN to be the 25th. He told me about the positive slew of gory, bloodletting films he’s managed to amass since our last viewing so I’m hoping for a welcome return to relative normality, fairly soon.

The boys, ready to heap abuse on the Watford players