The Diary

16 July 2003: What this column did on it's hols! (Day 2)

As far as columns go, this is going to be a quickie, a knee-trembler, a 'wham, bam, thank you, Ma'am', even, but without the lingering sequelae of horribly-unsocial afflictions, so here goes?

Today, we had intended to 'do' the centre of Odense in grand style, but, as usual, we were distracted, but that comes later. First off, a leisurely brekkie, eaten al fresco, or Al Buckley, if you like. Rather good it was, too, lots of fresh coffee, ham, cheese, a salami-type effort, several varieties of bread plus jam and marmalade ad lib. Oh, and lots of Baggies-type conversation (courtesy Richie Ryan, Alistair And Son, Neil and Joan) by way of accompaniment, all conducted with the warmth of the early sun gently bathing our shoulders as we ate to our hearts content. Oh, and we also discovered that our leader had been 'moaning his bag off' (phrase courtesy The Noise), about the 50-minute baggage delay at the airport yesterday, also the fact he nearly missed the kick-off. Surprising, that. Meggo cleared the formalities around the same time as us, he was (presumably) picked up by someone, whereas we had to do battle with the Danish railway system and two changes of trains; I therefore find it hard to comprehehend the fact it took The Soup Dragon considerably more time to arrive at his destination than we footsoldiers did.

Having noshed, on to Odense's 'centrum', then. On foot, as we'd missed the bus. Never mind, only 20 or so minutes? Once there, we headed towards the tourist office for details of the location of tomorrow's game versus Kolding, also some info about bus times for Monday night's football-fest at Horne. Bless his little Danish socks, the bloke on the counter took a great deal of time and trouble to look up the necessary stuff for us; a shame, then, that a fellow Baggie chose to enter the place with the news that Dave "Mammoth" Holloway is getting a coach organised for that trip! Most essential, actually; the reason for our extensive enquiries being the last bus from Horne to civilisation leaves at nine, and the game finshes at a quarter to! An honorary mention also, for Andrew, Andrew and James, from The Yew Tree, Hill Top and Stone Cross respectively, who made the lengthy trip by car - we literally bumped into them in the street! And so, into the town-and then we ran into Sauce, Paddy, and Long-Haired Mick, so back to the Irish pub we went - and remained there the entire afternoon!

Lead us not into temptation? Something like that, but the long sojourn over lots of falling-down water gave us the chance to do something we don't normally have the luxury of doing - and that's having a good long natter about things Albion with fellow-fanatics. Sure, we meet in pubs for a jar or two before games, but only for an hour at most, then it's down to the nitty-gritty of flogging 'zines, so today was a welcome break. During that time we not only managed to put the Albion world to rights, we also engaged (as you do) in earnest debate about the Top Ten worst names you could saddle a child with: think 'Adolf', 'Osama', ?'Saddam', and 'Beelzebub', and you'll get my drift. Things got completely out of hand, though, when some Black Country genius came up with 'Bobby Gould'!... Additionally and totally by chance, we also met our equivalent in the Danish fanzine world; 'The Tiger', OB Odense's supporters publication. Theirs is somewhat glossier than ours, hits the street around four times a year, but is given for free as per the deal for Supporters' Club membership in which they're heavily involved. Many tales of their finest from them, including the female half of the combo's tale about taking one of their players on in a drinking competition, which was declared a draw after both parties consumed around 20 shots of tequila apiece. Presumably, we'll be seeing our new-found Danish mates Saturday night, although they've told us segregation will be in force, which goes somewhat contrary to the spirit of these encounters, methinks.

Home James - our B and B, at any rate - my goodness, is that really the time! Thinking we'd sussed out a nifty short-cut to our billet via our street map, we set forth, only to discover about half a mile down the road we'd left said map somewhere in the vicinity of Ryan's Bar. Sod. So, it was a case of 'improvise', which we did, badly. Handy hint: a short cut is not a short cut when a 20-minute stroll transforms itself into a 50 minute marathon! As for the state of my lumbar region by then, that's best left to the imagination. A quick shower did much to revive the flagging spirit, however, enough to raid a nearby Chinese-cum-Vietnamese restaurant to total repletion. As I write these notes, there's a warm evening sun hanging just above the horizon, 'Im Indoors is lazing on a garden seat in the adjacent garden, God's in his heaven, and all's well with the world. More tomorrow.

 - Glynis Wright

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