Up at 7am on a Sunday. Off to the airport, only to find that the flight was delayed. Eventually got on the damn plane only to be told that there was still a delay and we'd be stuck on the tarmac. Finally took off. Turbulent, rocky flight that ended with being stacked over Heathrow for twenty five minutes. Touched down at 3.20pm. Raced like a madman to make kick off and miraculously arrived at Stamford Bridge in record time, with five minutes to spare... only to find myself in the the queue for the Upper Tier. Watched a nil all draw that could hardly be described as a feast of football. Sang when I felt like it and sat when I flippin' well felt like it too. Took the tube back to Earls Court and had a scout for a pub. Had my first morsel since midday/ pint, on my day off, at 7.15. Headed out to the airport only to discover that the flight home was delayed, too. Eventually got out and landed at just after midnight but had to face a two hour drive (I was a passenger) home. Saw the scratcher at 2.15 knowing I had to be up for work again at 7am this morning.
Been having away days like that for the best part of thirty years. I'm guessing that'd be well before the shittheads with the small time attitude, singing "where are all the Mancs?" were even born.
You know what? I hope to do it all again before the season's out. There's no logical reason why I put myself through it. Then again, that could be said for any football supporter.
Trust me, whatever it is it ain't tourism though.
Been having away days like that for the best part of thirty years. I'm guessing that'd be well before the shittheads with the small time attitude, singing "where are all the Mancs?" were even born.
You know what? I hope to do it all again before the season's out. There's no logical reason why I put myself through it. Then again, that could be said for any football supporter.
Trust me, whatever it is it ain't tourism though.