The House Husband

After talking myself hoarse with Mum and Dad, I was feeling a bit better this morning so I decided I could finally do something in the garden. This was made a lot easier by the fact that the rains stopped for a bit and the sun made an appearance.

A couple of weeks ago, we bought a standard fuchsia and it has sat, morosely wedged between two of the patio chairs, avoiding the wind but collecting water. I noticed on the weekend that it didn’t look too happy in its confinement and said as much to Mirinda who told me where it needed to go. This was on Sunday and, unusually, I remembered the location.

I’d prepared the bed already (the bed doesn’t have a name except it’s the closest to the patio) and it was just a matter of digging a hole, dropping in some chicken poo and then plonking the plant on top. While it’s quite tall, the fuchsia isn’t really that big so this wasn’t what you’d call in any way, hard work.

Almost immediately, the plant looked happier (that could have been my imagination – what is the floral version of anthropomorphism?*) and, spurred on by my success and feelings of continued well being, I decided to feed the birds.

We have a lot of feeding stations in our garden so this isn’t as simple as grabbing a handful of seed and tossing it on the grass. By the time I’d finished, I was exhausted and needed a jolly good lie down.

So, the net result of my labours (apart from a happy plant and well fed birds) was the knowledge that my cold was still clinging to my insides like a fox with a chicken. I felt like rubbish again.

So the rest of the day was devoted to snooker, medicine and dozing off during the more exciting moments of play (Mirinda would probably say that I clearly couldn’t have dozed much).

Late in the afternoon I did manage to put away the clean washing but even this wore me out and I needed a rest afterwards. Stupid cold!

A Nicktor Night was planned for tonight but, in a rare moment of wisdom and sense, I’d postponed it until next week. Nicktor was very understanding though obviously disappointed.

And my blips are getting a bit boring…

* I realise that anthropomorphic refers to giving ANYTHING human attributes and not just animals particularly given we do it all the time.

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.

Nicktor dragged me to Crawley last night to see, possibly the worst example of refereeing I’ve ever seen. It’s not bias that prompts this as the referee equally applied his bad judgement to both sides. Of course, the Aldershot fans thought he had it in for us and was on the Crawley payroll. Nicktor went as far as to say he lived just down the road.

And if you look at the tally of cards waved around, you’d be forgiven for thinking that we played a dirty game. The referee gave us six yellow cards while Crawley only received three. This was although Crawley played incredibly dirty football for the first 20 minutes of the game. Bad tackles, incidents off the ball, blatantly stealing yards during throw ins…the list is pretty long. In fact, if there’s a foul you can think of, Crawley probably did it last night.

The game started quite well. Danny Hylton scored after just a few minutes but he was a little too clever for the referee who disallowed it, although it was perfect. The trouble for Danny was he turned the opposing defender a little too well, leaving him standing there like a bollard in a well. It was also a problem that it was too quick for the ref.

Still, this didn’t seem to bother the Shots as they planted a second goal in their net about two minutes later. This one was allowed and the visiting crowd went mad – the goal was right in front of us. Delirium reigned for a bit. When play restarted, Crawley started pulling out the dirty tricks.

Tackle after tackle saw our players sprawling over the pitch, sending the team physio to all parts of the ground. It was like a war zone. The referee awarded free kicks and some yellow cards but, basically, he seemed to have no idea. He also didn’t have control of the match.

The vicious tackling of the Crawley players meant our boys started to stand off them, giving them far too much room to play with. But who could blame them? Boots flying everywhere…anyone would do the same.

And then, on 32 minutes, Crawley were awarded a penalty which was easily slotted home. Going in for the half-time break, the score was 1-1 and the crowd at our end was muttering about the Crawley team tactics to injure as many opposition players as possible. It was truly awful.

The second half seemed to settle down a bit but the referee didn’t improve at all. Adam Mekki was tackled very roughly, sending him crashing into a advertising hoarding. The tackle deserved a red card but the Crawley player didn’t even get a telling off. Poor Adam was carried off the pitch and, at the end of the game, returned to the pitch on crutches.

Substituting for Mekki was Peter Vincenti who almost immediately scored again for the Shots. It was nothing we didn’t deserve. Now we just had to hang on to the lead.

To be honest, it did appear we were hanging back, content with the slim lead. This is always a mistake. As expected, Crawley then equalised in the dying moments of the 90 minutes. The fourth official held up his board, showing an additional six minutes of injury time.

We attacked and attacked but couldn’t make any of it count. One very close call by Vincenti almost gave us the glory we deserved but it went wide. And 2-2 is how it ended, a scoreline that flattered Crawley and was an unfair indication of how we played.

I rarely malign the referee – I think it’s an awful job and wonder why anyone would want to put themselves through it – but the referee last night was pretty dire.

if you want to see what Nicktor thought, you can read his comments on his blip, here.

It was a sad night for football. Thank goodness we had a Nicktor Night to get over it.

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.

On Sunday night, I meant to post the path after I’d shovelled the snow off it. Well, it’s never too late and it’s not like me to waste a perfect opportunity to show off our path…so here it is:

The wonderful path

But, back to today…On the way to the shops this morning, I stared with disbelief at the violence I witnessed on the path. It wasn’t just the two fighters that caused me so much concern but the fact that they were being watched by four others. And they were egging them on with shrieks and cries. Fortunately the fight was broken up before it could get too bloody.

The fighters were actually two magpies having a real go at each other, watched by four other magpies who, I can only assume, had bets on the outcome. They were all squawking in that magpie way we know the world over. Then, suddenly, like a black-caped crusader, a big crow swooped down on them, scattering the magpies to a couple of neighbouring trees. That broke up the fight and led me to believe that the crows are actually the bird police of the park.

And tonight was another Nicktor Night. Last week, I received a surprise parcel from Mum & Dad. It contained several items. One of which was the Ricky Gervais movie, Ghost Town. Mum had seen it and decided that we’d both like it very much. It was not our usual fare, seeing as it is a RomCom and has no violence or bad language in it but, not wanting to disappoint Mum & Dad, we decided to watch it first.

What a funny movie! And it even made Nicktor go a bit teary during the nice bits. At the movies conclusion, Nicktor proclaimed it one of his 20 favourite movies. I guess you can’t get much better than that.

Ricky Gervais plays a dentist who, because of a surgical mishap, can see dead people who, as the tagline says “…really annoy him.” Actually, all people annoy him, dead or alive. He pretty much plays the same character he generally plays but it works really well in this movie. He had us both in stitches. Greg Kinnear as one of the ghosts was also excellent.

If you like a good laugh (and who the hell doesn’t?) this movie will appeal. And the RomCom label shouldn’t put you off. The ending is particularly good.

And then, to completely change direction, we watched one of the worst films we’ve seen together. Nicktor has been bringing it around for yonks, always keen to see it but other films have taken precedence. If only we’d known how truly bad it is, he could have saved himself a lot of wasted effort.

It’s a revenge thriller called Death Sentence, starring Kevin Bacon, Kelly Preston and featuring John Goodman. Sounds promising. Bacon is a father who loses a son when a bunch of gang bangers shoots him in order to…well, for no reason really. The younger brother of an ugly thug wanted to prove he was a man and the only way he could do it was to kill someone. Mind you, one of the gang shop the guy in the gas station first before the son was shot. Couldn’t the shopkeeper have been the target instead?

Of course, Kevin Bacon then kills the younger brother in revenge after the legal system fails him miserably. Straight after the trial! Yeah, right, the police will NEVER suspect him.

There follows a lot of increasingly stupid killings, including Bacon’s wife (Preston) and (almost) his younger son – his fingers appear to have survived after their owner has been shot at point blank range while lying still, on a carpet. Ironically, the actors that were killed in this movie were extremely lucky, given how bad it is. I’m sure I detected a glimmer of relief flicker over John Goodman’s face as his life was snuffed out.

Discussing it afterwards, as we always do, we decided the script was awful, the plot not very tight and the film never quite decided what it wanted to be. One major fault, we decided, was that the audience was far too emotionally involved with Bacon’s family, which tends to make the killing unpleasant. A good revenge film should give only minimal time with the victims, after all, it’s the act not the emotional tugs that make the film.

Possibly the worst thing in the movie was how Bacon’s character, who worked for an insurance firm, just went out and bought a whole load of weaponry and learned how to use them all by reading the manuals that came with them while badly shaving his head. When he goes into full killing mode, his skill with the weapons is amazing. He must have been reading Shooting Baddies for Dummies.

I was rather amazed that someone could drive a souped up car through a steel gate and into a parked van and remain unscathed even without a seatbelt on. The gates were ripped off and the van was ripped in two – literally – by the impact. Instead of a nice violent moment, this just started us laughing. This was pretty much the end for us. Any skerrick of artistic merit vanished down the toilet bowl with the ugly thug’s final line. He sits on a bench next to Bacon, both of them suffering from multiple gun shot wounds. He turns to Bacon (not a bit of pain on his face) and says “Do you see how much like me you’ve become?”

Clearly this was meant to symbolise how the two men were very similar in their insatiable need for revenge but it was rubbish. But then, compounding the ridiculousness of the film, Bacon, having been shot a number of times, manages to drive the ugly thug’s car back to his house so he can watch the DVD of his family showing us, presumably, that he could still see them even though they were (mostly) dead – a bit like Ricky Gervais but without the comedy. Bacon manages this without running into any police cars even though there’s been a pretty full on gunfight and his house is a crime scene.

Anyway, this film was a complete load of rubbish and one hazards the guess that it was all about the paycheck.

The evening ended on a much more pleasant note as we started series 3 of Sorry. We both felt it is starting to get a bit dark but it’s still a good giggle to end the night on.

Oh, and the other items in the parcel were Tim Tams. They didn’t quite make it to Nicktor Night I’m afraid. I’m pretty good at resisting nice things but Tim Tams are an entirely different kettle of chocolate biscuit delight. Like ancient Greek sirens, they call and sing to me, fingers beckoning…it is impossible not to be dashed on the rocks of their sweet, delectable insides. Mmmmm, Tim Tams….

I woke up extremely tired this morning. Fortunately I didn’t have to drive to Gloucester for a meeting like poor Nicktor. In fact, the meeting was originally scheduled for 8:30! This almost meant the cancellation of our Nicktor Night for it doesn’t take a genius to work out he’d have to leave here very early in order to arrive for that time of the morning. In fact, he’d probably not have slept at all, which is not good when copious amounts of alcohol are involved.

His contingency plan was to drink less and have an early night. Not exactly what a Nicktor Night is about. I suggested we shift it to Monday night. After a bit of clever rescheduling on Nicktor’s part, the meeting was moved to a more reasonable 10am and so our night could proceed as usual.

Nicktor generally hasn’t blipped when he gets to me and so he tends to just take a photo relevant to our night, usually before we start any serious film watching and drinking. Last night he decided to blip me banging our new gong as it was a nice counterpoint to my earlier blip from when I hung it.

Chinese takeaway is served

Here is another blip he took of a Nicktor Night a while back. In fact, blipping has taken the Cansfield clan by storm. They all do it! Here’s one from each of them: Dawn, Matt & James. I think they’re blip mad!

Meanwhile, back at the Nicktor Night, we had the usual choice to make over our viewing options. While the number of DVDs tends to remain constant, the choices change each time we view them. This does mean that the less appealing movies get left each time. There are two movies that have been around for quite some time. Last night we didn’t watch either of them again so they’ll still be there next time.

Our first film was not very good. it had moments and a good cast but basically it was rubbish. It featured Colin Farrell with an awful English accent (he’s actually Irish) and the hopelessly untalented Keira Knightly playing a celeb we’re supposed to feel sorry for but can’t help but find odious. Ray Winstone is also in it and turns in an awful performance. Seriously, why was this made?

The film is called London Boulevard and was made in 2010. It sort of wants to be a Guy Ritchie ‘gangster’ film and sort of wants to be a social comment. It is neither. As far as I’m concerned, the only good thing in it is Anna Friel who is as delightful as only she can be.

But don’t just take my word for it, here’s an excerpt from a review I found on the imdb:

It lacked any real tension or suspense, the story felt underdeveloped with too many subplots and a lot of it just fails to convince. Many parts of the film are just not believable enough. (mattquigley1978 from imdb.com)

The second film was a VAST improvement. We (I say ‘we’ but Nicktor actually had me choose) decided to watch another Coen brothers movie. This time it was Miller’s Crossing. Brilliant, as usual. The Coens are amazingly creative and you’re never too sure what sort of film you’re going to get except that it’ll be amazing.

Miller’s Crossing is about prohibition America and gangsters and floozies and hats. It’s not for the squeamish although there’s no blood, no swearing and no sex. In fact, if anything, it’s very funny…in that typical Coen fashion.

It’s hard to pick out any single actor as being a stand out because they are all so believable but I loved the cameo by Steve Buscemi as Mink. He just cracks me up. He has ever since I saw him in Reservoir Dogs as the indignant Mr Pink. He has one little scene in Miller’s Crossing and he talks at 100mph right through it.

Also worth a mention is the hat5 belonging to the main character, Tom (played by Gabriel Byrne). It deserves a credit all of its own. A character pretty much central to the plot. My favourite part was when he had to quickly jump out of the window to head off another character. He was just out of bed and just had an undershirt and trousers with braces on. He reached out and grabbed his gun and then, before leaping out of the window, grabbed his hat as well. He may have had no shoes or shirt on but he had his hat. Genius.

Actually, it’s just occurred to me that one of the characters, a gangster boss keeps accusing people of treating him like a ‘high hat’. I’m sure there’s probably more references to hats in it as well. Quite apart from the fact that nearly all the characters in film wear hats. Maybe it’s just all about the hat.

Of course, we followed the films with our usual dose of Ronnie Corbett in Sorry, finishing series two. It is such a silly show and we laugh all the way through it.

We ordered in Chinese for dinner, drank lots of beer and some delicious whisky (thanks Nicktor) before retiring about 20 minutes before getting up again.

OK, the title of this post may be a bit of an exaggeration but it sure felt like it. I should have known it would be bad. Shopping at Waitrose in Canary Wharf between 5 & 6pm is always going to be bad. The entire population is in there. It’s a sea of trolleys, baskets and crazy people. I have no idea how people can enjoy going to the sales if it’s anything like what I witnessed today.

The day itself started off quite scary. I was woken by the umbrella in the patio table being ripped out of the weighted base and being hurled across the garden by gale force winds. It was pretty horrendous. And things just grew worse. Two of the obelisks had fallen over and the garden was strewn with, what were earlier, the last remaining leaves on the trees. In fact, the only remaining flowers in the garden were covered in the dead leaves of the palm tree.

I also noticed, when checking out the night’s devastation, that some of the tulips have already started coming up. This is just ridiculous and shows what a mild winter we seem to be having. The world has gone mad!

The path (our wonderful, wonderful path) made my tour of inspection so much easier than in years gone by. There was no mud on my wellies as I wandered back and forth, seeking out any damage.

My trip to Waitrose was highlighted by great gusts of wind and horizontal rain. The weather seemed to have kept everyone else at home because shopping was a breeze and I was soon home again; wet but pleased. We had to take another walk in the tempest so Mirinda could show the junior doctor her knee but generally we remained inside and dry.

Then, after lunch, we glanced out of the lounge room window and the sky had suddenly turned a bright and welcoming blue (“Our weather is so changeable” Dr Chasuble remarked). The mighty winds had blown all the nasty weather away somewhere continental.

Then it was time to pack up everything (forgetting Mirinda’s little friend – gasp) and head up to Canary Wharf on a train that was pleasant and unhindered by fallen trees. I say this because almost every other line in the country seemed to have suffered as a result of fallen trees…but more of this later. We arrived at the flat and, having settled Mirinda and her knee on her sofa, I set out for the shops for her supplies.

Unfortunately, this is where my day rapidly deteriorated. It was as if the entire population had somehow sensed I was going to Waitrose and decided to taunt me by doing the exact same thing at the exact same time. And they all knew the layout of this Waitrose and I didn’t.

I managed to force my trolley through the thickening crowds, grabbing what food I could, gradually reducing my shopping list. Frustratingly, Canary Wharf Waitrose doesn’t carry the same stuff as Farnham Waitrose so I was in a bit of a pickle, having to make substitutions all over the place.

One of the things I noticed was how miserable everyone was. At one point a woman was serving two office type guys. All three looked totally miserable; the men didn’t even look at her, merely pointing to what they wanted, grunting. I felt sorry for her and made a big fuss of ordering, beaming at her in thanks. I’m glad to say my efforts elicited a smile from her. This was my one glimmer of joy.

Something else I discovered in Waitrose was that my phone has no signal inside the shop. It’s all underground with many floors above the food hall so I guess it’s really no surprise but it’s downright annoying when I needed to call Mirinda to ask her to verify any changes I needed to make. It also meant I didn’t get her message to remind me of something I managed to forget.

Needless to say, I managed to haul it all home (in one bag, because I’m such a good packer) and explain the strange selection of goods as I popped them in the fridge.

There was no time to relax, however, as I had to get home. Before we left home, I had a call from the realo, saying he had a guy wanting to come round for a look at the house at 11am in the morning. There was some tidying up to do. I high-tailed it off to the Jubilee Line.

Standing on the escalator, my heart sank. At the bottom, a train had arrived and a steady stream of commuters were disappearing into it. It looked like thousands. I thought the crowds at Waitrose had been bad. It looked like all the shoppers had grabbed their mates and decided to catch the train with me as well.

When I reached the bottom of the escalator, the doors of the train shut and the packed train left the station. The next one was long behind and I joined the hordes on this one. At least I managed to get a seat though I felt a bit squashed against everyone else in the carriage. I’m so glad I don’t do have to do it every day.

At Waterloo I managed to just miss the 7pm train so I bought a coffee and waited for the 7:30. I boarded it as soon as it arrived and claimed a nice enough seat and waited. And continued to wait, along with the the rest of the train as we were told we were being held up at Waterloo because there were many trains before us because they had all been held up by fallen trees. I’m not sure this is entirely fair as our line was saved any such blockage. Still, we waited.

When we finally did manage to leave the station, our journey was slow and painful as we limped from one station to another on a long drawn out trip home. The trip was made all the more joyful by the three drunks that joined us in Woking, having been there drinking for three hours. The whole carriage found this out when they told us all. A carriage full of sleeping commuters groaned in unison as their sleep was disturbed by three loud and obnoxious drunks.

Still, eventually I made it home and collapsed on the lounge, enjoying the total quiet (ignoring the snuffling and puffling of the poodles) of the house.

And I almost forgot that today was Nicktor’s birthday. So many happy returns to Mr Cansfield with hopes of a birthday dram when next we meet.

We’ve had a bit of rain over the last few days. A little while ago, this would have meant the dining room floor having a thick layer of mud on top of the wood. This was partly from my wellies but mostly due to the paws of the poodles.

The fur at the end of their feet acts like a mop, absorbing and then redistributing. They go outside, wander around and then bring the garden into the house.

Most of the time I manage to wipe them dry before they enter the rest of the house but the dining room always cops it. And I haven’t mentioned the muddy footprints across the kitchen tiles.

However, everything has changed with the path. Oh, glorious path. What a difference! Ok, there’s still a bit of water but nothing like the old pre-path days. Mind you, Carmen has only three feet to work with at the moment so you’d expect it to be a lot less than normal anyway.

Speaking of Carmen, she has started using her leg a bit (though not when we go for our little walks up the path), gradually putting more weight on it. I have to be quite alert because she races up and down the stairs if I’m not.

Her stitches seem to have done their job well as her wound quickly heals and she doesn’t appear to be suffering any pain although I think she’ll still gets a bit uncomfortable every now and then. She particularly doesn’t like it when Day-z bites the leg.

It hasn’t rained all day. This morning I managed to finally get some photographs of a nuthatch – Dawn’s favourite bird (apparently). They normally fly in, grab some food and then flash away again, leaving me with nothing but an image of the feed tray. This one, however, decided to stuff his face with as much food as possible.

Little beak, many seeds

He really is a lovely little chap, though I think he looks a bit like a badger, with that black stripe across his face. Or maybe an old fashioned burglar.

Hiding behind a chain

We also had another visit from the starlings. I’ve never really noticed how beautiful they are.

Starling

Speaking of visits, I had an unexpected one from Nicktor this evening. He was on his way from his new work to a Christmas ‘do’ at his old place of work and suggested ‘popping in for a cup of tea’. Which is exactly what he did. I haven’t seen him for ages so it was a great treat. Hopefully next week we’ll be able to have a 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.

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.