The House Husband

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Oval

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

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

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

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

England fielding, the Oval

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

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

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

The view from Nicktor's sunnies

Waking at a ridiculous 7am (having gone to bed at about 1:30am) the puppies and I moved from the bed to the lounge to watch the news. Nicktor slept on. He is one of those lucky people who can just sleep. Even though he wakes early for work every day, he can still sleep for England when work doesn’t grab him out of bed (with the help of an alarm).

He eventually woke at 8:30 and, having showered and changed, we set off for the station at 9. He never has breakfast. Weird.

Along the park path a group of kids had chalked a mural. A variety of images from butterflies to hopscotch, from mountains to snakes had been added to the path. Some of the images were very good. I particularly liked the peacock, though something tells me an adult possibly had a hand in it.

Chalk peacock on park path

We admired the artistry while calmly walking over it, eventually arriving at the station.

Nicktor hates trains and when he realised he’d have to catch three to get to me, he moaned. He no longer has a car, work having picked up his company car on Friday, and is at the mercy of public transport until he buys one. He’s still trying to sort out what to buy; wanting a convertible but having to settle for a family car.

Hearing his transport complaints, Dawn smiled and said “Welcome to Gary’s world!” This did nothing to console him but made me laugh because I was going to say the same thing.

I waited for the train with him but, unlike with Mirinda, I didn’t stand and wave as the train pulled out, preferring to head to Starbucks.

Gostrey Meadow in the Sunday sun

The rest of the day was mostly spent in the garden, weeding. I’m pretty sure that the word ‘weeds’ comes from the Latin for “grows better than anything else”. It never ends! I’m pretty sure I saw some of them growing while I was pulling others out.

It was a very pleasant and restful day, weeding and listening to the cricket, a gentle sun overhead, a slight breeze taking the heat away. The poodles were stretched out underneath various bits of garden furniture (Carmen spent some of her sleeping under an obelisk) with occasional visits to ensure I hadn’t forgotten about them. It was sometime in the afternoon that I noticed it.

We’d planted some gladiolus bulbs earlier in the year and they had pushed forth green stalks, rising high and glorious but little else. But now, before my eyes, one stalk had appeared, the flowers still tightly bunched inside.

This had seemingly appeared out of nowhere but, while very exciting, it didn’t occupy a lot of examination time. Later, having read a bit about Dame Edna’s favourite flowers, I found out that the word gladiolus comes from the Roman word for sword – gladius. It strikes me as amusing that gladius means sword but ‘glad’ means happy. And, of course, that’s what Dame Edna calls them…well, ‘gladdys’ to be more accurate.

So, not so much sword-like as happy plants. And, to be honest, I think they make better smile inducers than they would be lethal weapons.

Even though I don’t work – well, in the traditional way, whereby I interact with other people while getting paid for doing something deemed worth paying for – my weeks are filled with ‘stuff’. Weekends, on the other hand, are a time when Mirinda and I can chill, enjoy the garden and/or visit other people’s, basically just enjoying each other’s company more than anything else. When she’s away, I tend to feel a bit lost.

Dawn obviously felt a bit sorry for me; with a vision of me sitting at home moping (not mopping, which is difficult when seated) and so invited me to join all four Cansfields at Millfest.

Millfest is an annual event held in the beer garden of a lovely, very English country pub in Milland, not far from them. Fortunately it’s quite a sizeable beer garden.

They have a number of (unknown) bands performing on the smallest stage I think I’ve ever seen, a fantastic beer tent as well as the bar, a food delivery service that is run with military precision and a massive crowd of, mostly, family groups.

I was very lucky. Nicktor offered to come and pick me up. This was lucky for a couple of reasons. Mainly because the trains were replaced by buses between Farnham and Aldershot, which would have been a pain. Also because I haven’t seen Nicktor for a few weeks so it was nice to have a catch up in the drive back.

While waiting at home, I managed to watch the first half of a rugby league match between Warrington and Wigan (a quarter final of the Challenge Cup) which, I can only describe as amazing. After the first 25 minutes, Wigan had played like a bunch of crazy people, building up an impressive 22-0 lead. Then everything turned on it’s head and Warrington scored some fantastic tries to go in at half time at 22-16.

I’m not the biggest league fan in the world but the game was incredibly exciting. It was like Warrington had been dazed and confused while Wigan ran all over them and then, shaking themselves, full clarity returned and they fought back. It was a pity the half ended because I reckon they would have ran away with the game at that point.

Nicktor arrived as half time drew to a close so I didn’t get to see the rest of the game. On Breakfast this morning, I heard that Wigan took the game 24-44. Without having seen the second half, I figure that Warrington just ran out of steam. The ‘pundits’, the sort of guys that dad hates, were saying at half time that if Wigan wanted to win, they had to not only defeat Warrington in points but also in stamina. They didn’t think they would, particularly after Warrington staged the sort of comeback that Spartans would be proud of. Well, Wigan showed them!

Anyway, we arrived at the Cansfield house in time to see the last few Indian wickets fall in the first test at Lords, before heading out to Millfest.

It’s not often that I get to see the entire family in one go, so it was a bit of a treat for me. As Dawn was driving, she wasn’t drinking, so it wasn’t as much a treat for her.

Interestingly, the acts we saw were very good with 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s and 00s covers but failed miserably when it came to trying Pink Floyd. One memorable performance for all the wrong reasons, was by a girl in black and white horizontal stripes wearing acid blue bedroom slippers, trying to emulate Clare Torry‘s wordless performance on The Great Gig in the Sky. She wasn’t very good…that’s me being generous.

A stage clearly not made for Big Bands

Still, apart from the Pink Floyd blunders, the bands were quite good. They performed some great medleys of songs that were strung together very well. I should add that we didn’t see the earlier bands which, even I, cannot comment on. I particularly liked the Led Zeppelin numbers they performed although the woman drummer, while in all other ways excellent, was no John Bonham.

While we were there, Nicktor seemed to attract an inordinate amount of female attention. As he greeted, what seemed to be his harem, I asked Dawn who these women were and she just shrugged, as mystified as me. After she asked him for the umpteenth time who they all were, he made sure to go and chat to a few males he claimed to know.

I managed to snap him with a couple of his floozies. Apparently, after I took this photograph, the woman with him was a bit concerned. I’m not sure if this was because she didn’t want to be seen with him or she just didn’t want to be seen. Regardless, I’m not big on showing mercy without foundation.

Nicktor notices my high powered zoom lens

Millfest ended for kids at 10pm so we packed the car with the boys and took them home. Dawn drove me to Haslemere station where I realised I was drunker than I thought I was.

With a great amount of effort, I managed to read the indicator board to find that the next train to Guildford wasn’t for three quarters of an hour. Adding this to the journey time and the fact that I would have to change trains then get a railway bus meant I wouldn’t be home until September. I went and grabbed a taxi.

And what an knowledgeable taxi driver I had! At one point, while classical music filled the cab, we were discussing the Russian novel One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Actually, I was talking about growing up in Australia and happened to mention the fact that in the Russian labour camps, if the temperature sunk as low as -42, they didn’t have to go to work, quoting Solzhenitsyn and he came back with “A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich?“. We had a jolly good chat about how Russian literature developed as a result of a repressive rule.

At home I collapsed beneath the weight of over excited puppies and gradually drifted off to sleep with the television entertaining itself. At 3am I decided I should go to bed.