The Diary

02 December 2006: "I'M AN ALBION FAN - GET ME OUTTA HERE!..."

No, I didn?t come up with the above title for this piece: for once, I can genuinely develop ?sloping shoulders? on that score, and honestly declare to just about everyone currently reading this: ?Absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me, Guv?.? Makes a nice change for me, that. No, the pleasure may not be mine, but it most certainly is that of a certain young gentleman, name of Matthew, who attended last Tuesday night?s Sheffield Wednesday game accompanied by his mum, and had them a-rockin? and a-rollin? in the aisles of the Supporters? Club coach the very moment he made that remark not long after the final whistle. The fact he?s also the eight year old grandson of The King (you only have to look as far as his eyes to see precisely where the Jeff Astle genes have gone; it really is unnerving to see the same sort of wicked twinkle his granddad had there) is another matter entirely!

Given that the Royal Family live near Burton, and we live in Bearwood, under normal circumstances, I doubt very much whether I?d have found out about Matthew?s very frank critique of our Hillsborough performance until some two or three weeks after the event, but as luck would have it, we spent this evening at daughter Clare?s house, the occasion being Laraine?s 60th burthday celebrations. Mind you, the crafty little moos had previously conspired to make the whole event a ?surprise? do, and inviting Baggie people they thought their mum would want there ? blimey, you could have knocked me down with a feather when Dawn approached us before our last home game, inviting us there ? so, come about eight in the evening, or so, there we all were, in the front room of Clare?s house, the lights all switched off, and us all waiting to shout ?Surprise!?.

Despite there being a fair number of vehicles parked nearby that normally wouldn?t be there, Laraine didn?t ?twig? at all, and the look on her face as it finally dawned what was going on was an absolute picture. I only found out later that in order to get her over there, the girls had led her up the garden path with some cock and bull story about a new firm of Chinese cooks that went one stage further than the ?normal? takeway ? actually cooking the stuff for you from scratch in your very own kitchen! ?Odd sort of service, that,? thought Laraine, when one of the girls asked her to come, but she simply took the word for the deed, and never pursued the matter any further.

My goodness, wasn?t it Bedlam in there? Not only loads of humans present, of course, but also a brace of charming golden Labrador pups, and a three-legged Rottweiller as well! If the Astle family weren?t tied up with controlling the kids, it was the three mutts running riot that grabbed their attention for the most part. Growing like crazy, those pups: one?s called Henry, and the other Astle, and just like a couple of naughty children they are, too. The tripedal Rotty? All the result of a surgical amputation, to cut out a nasty leg tumour: not only did the animal - called Holly, by the way - have the op, it was given a course of radio and chemotherapy, too, just like a human cancer patient would. To watch the animal bounding around so playfully, the missing leg apart, you wouldn?t really notice all that much difference between her mobility now, and what it was before the amputation. As I?ve said before on other occasions, dogs are remarkably resilient creatures. Well, they?d have to be to live in that sort of household, wouldn?t they?

Moving on swiftly from an Albion-related function worthy enough to attract people in their droves, we now turn our attention to one that was somewhat-less savoury in nature, the stabbing of Ronnie Wallwork in a Manchester nightclub the previous night, celebrating someone?s birthday along with his girlfriend And not just the once, mind, but no less than three times in total: according to a police statement this afternoon, it would appear that Wallwork?s attacker was known to him very well indeed. Fortunately for Ronnie (who is currently out on loan to Barnsley, although he won?t be for much longer, after this), despite being stabbed in three separate places, the hand, stomach and back, he?s expected to make a complete recovery from his various wounds. Apparently the guy was ?known? to Our Ron, according to the investigating plods, so there might well be one humdinger of a story to come. ?Bird trouble? perhaps, and not quite the sort that sing pretty tunes, either? Could be.

And so we now come to the piece de resistance of our week, yet another Baggies game, but versus bloody Derby this time. You?ll no doubt remember how they stuck two goals past us at their place, despite the fact we were 1-0 in the lead for most of the game. That?s what happens when you neglect to take your chances as soon as they?re handed to you right on a plate, of course. According to tonight?s Radio WM phone-in featuring the Baggies, Derby have managed to win their last six games on the bounce 2-1, and all with the above new strikeforce installed, too. Amazing how they?ve gone from being borderline relegation candidates to a highly-regarded bunch of winter-sports enthusiasts, and in such a short space of time, too. Just remind me never to strike up a conversation with them in the street, eh?

Stuff this one up, and Mowbray?s going to find himself in some awful lumber before too long: additionally, as the bloke was Jeremy Peace?s choice of manager in the first place, there?s also going to be a substantial amount of flak aimed at him, too. There?s only so many times you can make like Tony Blair on the box, soothing phrases gushing forth like the stuff that comes out of a fountain in heaps; people are a little bit less inclined to take that sort of thing at face value these days, so games would most probably end up becoming somewhat fraught affairs for those presiding over them.

Tomorrow? (Or, to be far more accurate, today!) Nigel Quashie won?t be coming out to play, Miss, he?s got a stomach bug, apparently. Mind you, it hasn?t been choosy, that bug: it?s also laid low our manager, who was last reported spending some time in bed, turning green and letting forth variants on a general theme of ?Ooooooh!? So if you should see far more buckets in our dug-out than are strictly necessary for the job in hand, tomorrow, you?ll know Mogga?s well-provided for, so to speak.

Alarmingly, I?m also reading of John Hartson being available to play, which might mean our leader has designs upon the lad featuring at some stage or another. On the other hand, can he do any worse than our regular crew have these past few games? A lot will depend upon how County want to play it: if they want to play pretty, it would probably be to our advantage: should they want to ?lump it? however, that wouldn?t be such good news. On the other hand, that?s the sort of scenario in which I could envisage Hartson getting his second chance to win friends and influence Baggie people. Richard Chaplow? Got a back problem, apparently. Another alarming bit of news I read ? and I can?t believe it for one moment ? is that Zuberbuhler is one of those in contention for a start after Tuesday?s disaster. As John MacEnroe used to say to long-suffering umpires aplenty at Wimbledon, ?You cannot be SERIOUS??

Mark Venus has said today that no player?s place is ?safe?, which would probably tie in with Hartson?s likely availability for this one. It wouldn?t surprise me at all if Paul McShane gets a start for this one: this is the sort of situation where we need someone with his gritty defensive style. In fact, I reckon he was about the only one to come out of Tuesday?s abomination with any sort of credit, having come on at half-time to do a damage-limiting job out there and, for the most part, succeeding.

I really do hope their God goes with them at the Hawthorns tomorrow. Two from the last 21 or so ain?t funny, and I don?t hear many laughing in either the Brummie or Smethwick, right now. Naturally, the current situation has made for a lot of very angry people out there: anyone doubting the veracity of my words should have heard the absolute torrent of boos, catcalls and cries of ?What a load of rubbish!? that accompanied our players as they trudged back to the dressing-room last Tuesday night. Not only at full-time, but at the end of the first half, also. To ignore that little lot, pretend it wasn?t happening, you?d have to possess a hide the thickness of a Dingle?s skull. Oh, well ? Mowbray did say he wanted to learn a little bit more about the club and its supporters. Stuff up tomorrow, and he?ll be very quickly discovering just how poisonous a Hawthorns crowd can turn when a serving manager is found wanting in several departments. That?ll really give him something to think about.

And Finally?? Let me tell you all about a place called Bilston, that nestles comfortably on the very borders of Dingles territory. Reading the above, it may not come as any surprise to realise that the basic trappings of normal civilisation there are about as plentiful as genuine Socialists in New Labour: in short, you can?t polish a turd, can you? Here?s a couple of examples my ?spies? have come up with recently ? and, sad to say, they?re all quite genuine!

Sitting comfortably? Right, then, I?ll begin. Most towns these days boast a ??1 thrift shop?, a place where you can get most household non-food essentials for exactly the price it says on the tin, in this case, one pound sterling, but good old Bilston just happens to go one better: it boasts a 50p thrift shop, no less! Just the sort of tasteful emporium to give our Dingle chums exactly what they want when it comes to the purchase of ?household essentials?, such as cardboard sheeting to patch up a window that?s had an angry fist or two through it these past couple of weeks, so well done chaps ? and keep up the good work, I say.

Not only that, their local chemist has a special offer going right at this very minute, should you feel constrained to flash (not much) cash in order to assuage any post-nookie panic - pregnancy test kits, a real snip for those who?ve never had one, and aren?t ever likely to. All reduced to but a mere quid, they are, so why stay your spending hand any longer, what?

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index