Prince of poppies

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

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

The tall poppy in situ

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

Big poppy up close

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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