The Diary

22 April 2008: Yoo-Hoo! I'm Well And Truly Back In The Albion Groove

Long time, no see, and all that jazz? As good ole Dixie boy Mark Twain once said, in response to a newspaper report intimating that he?d prematurely shuffled off this mortal coil, ?Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated?.?

What happened to take me completely out of the Baggie-luvvin? loop for such a ridiculous length of time? Two things: first off, a house move that turned into complete and utter farce that worsened with every passing day, all of it caused by the person buying our old house from us, a solicitor doing her own conveyancing, and proving somewhat dilatory in paying in a certain sum of money needed before contracts could be properly exchanged, and house keys for the new place given to us (Disgraceful behaviour. Someone in her position really should have known better: as it was, we ended up having to put our furniture in store for two days at exorbitant cost, the money from the buyer only being paid in late on the third day); and second, Richard Branson?s lackeys doing their level best to get their gaffer?s telecom and internet business re-titled ?Laurel And Hardy? for him.

Result (and I mean this most sincerely, folks?..)? A near-uncontrollable urge to seek out from the local fishmonger the most rancid, stinking, past-its-sell-by-date pair of kippers he?s got, then proceeding to slap the blasted thing about the face of the very next well-meaning person to tell me that: a) Moving house is a damn good idea, and something to be undertaken at frequent intervals. b) Said move having finally taken place, getting one?s new home reconnected to Virgin Media is but a mere bagatelle. Should you ever want to know the modern-day equivalent of ending up on the Reader?s Digest mailing-list, and getting caught up in a horribly-Mobius-strip-like loop, condemned for all eternity to stay there, until the Last Trump and thereafter, I now sure as hell know what it is!

This is Great Auntie Glynis telling all you Baggie lot out there?. Place thine faith in bearded purveyors of train and airline tickets, holidays, cable TV channels and records etc. NOT! Given that his train services are about as useless as mammaries on a bull, and his oft-failing condoms a Vatican lackey?s wet dream (every sperm is sacred, they reckon, so don?t ask!), why should anyone in their right mind consider his cable TV, internet and telecommunications bits likely to prove any better?

Almost two weeks after we moved, now, and we STILL don?t have a landline connection. And as for the people tasked with coming to sort it, the first one turned up an hour early, which would have been fine and dandy, had we been actually able to get into the house to let the guy in ? but we couldn?t! Believe it or not, that was the day we got locked out of our own house ? a faulty Yale lock the critter responsible ? and despite Norm, mother-in-law?s partner, a pretty nifty handyman, turning up just as the Virgin man did, the latter simply wouldn?t hang around for the few minutes necessary to gain admission. Grrrrr?..

And so to Connection Attempt Number Two?? This was arranged for the following Friday, eight days after the previous debacle. As I wasn?t sure as to time, I stayed in all day ? and guess what? No show, not until his Nibs returned from work, in fact. He then commenced operations, but for reasons that escape me, right now, despite the place already being wired up for Virgin, reconnection was proving a bit of a sod. ?Never mind?, said our engineer, after an hour of trying, ?what you need is a little green box, but I?ll have to nip back to the office for it. I?ll be about five minutes?? So we waited, and waited and waited?.. Gone, but most certainly not forgotten.

Quietly furious by then, my other half rang the Virgin office to ascertain where the chuffing hell their errant employee had disappeared to. The answer? They didn?t know either! Apparently, the guy had ?previous? for doing this to customers: disciplinary action was promised, and we were given yet another installation date. Guess what: the day he was supposed to visit, we had an early phone call saying he wouldn?t be there until late afternoon, so we went out for the morning, together. Bet you can guess what happened next, can?t you? Yep ? our chap showed up that very same morning, while we were out??

Current state of play? A guy did come around the other night, so we now have internet (obviously!), satellite TV and email (which my other half finally managed to fix up himself, through sheer frustration on his part!), but still no telephone! Thanks to The Disappearing One doing a runner, we still need to obtain that elusive ?little green box? to finally reconnect Chez Wright with Alexander Graham Bell?s brainchild, apparently.

And there's more. Their latest stunt? Billing us ? a stonking great bill, in fact, which made my other half ?go nuclear? on the spot ? for a phone service we?ve yet to receive! Needless to say, a blistering letter of complaint to Virgin is currently in the process of compilation: not only that, I?ve also been surfing witchcraft sites for spells efficacious enough to give a certain bearded knight of the realm more than a few ?reptilian moments?. Feel free to join in.

Now you know the many excellent reasons why I wasn?t able to communicate my Baggie thoughts with all you lot out there, for the last 14 days. And, since my last posting on these matters, we?ve been well and truly tipped out of the FA Cup by a Pompey side that on the overall run of play, probably deserved it. It?s always a sickener to get chucked out of the competition at the semi-final stage, of course (this season?s Wembley semi was my fourth, three of which saw us dip out, so I do know what I?m babbling on about, honest!), but having freed us up to concentrate more upon the nitty-gritty of winning promotion, it was probably for the best. You lose the battle, you win the war.

And what a magical fortnight it?s been, too! The day we were scheduled to move but didn?t (and had to give Cardiff a miss, both of us losing oodles of money in the form of match and coach tickets courtesy of our dilatory house-buyer), the result was a creditable 0-0 draw, only our third this term. Then, on the Tuesday evening after our Wembley FA Cup semi, we hit the Baggies trail again, this time to Bloomfield Road, Blackpool, where we registered a pretty amazing 3-1 win, after falling behind to yet another sodding set-piece goal in the first half, and not making the breakthrough we so badly needed until that curious penalty, some ten minutes before the end, a brace of strikes afterwards finally settling the Seasiders? hash for them. Unlucky Blackpool? Undoubtedly, but that?s the way the mop flops in football, sadly. From nervously contemplating the horrendous prospect of the play-offs, suddenly, it was ?game on!? again.

Given we?d grabbed three points in the week, you?d have thought we?d at least manage to rustle up a home three-pointer versus equally-inconsistent Watford, wouldn?t you? Wrong! Once more, we fell behind, again from a set-piece, and needing a late-ish strike to salvage something from the wreckage. But drawn games aren?t the kind of thing you?d be wanting when chasing points in the manner we are: promotion heartbreak beckoned, so thank you very much, Dingles, for getting us out of the smelly stuff the following Tuesday evening! In fact, it was far more than that: for most of the allotted 90 minutes, we proceeded to give our inbred neighbours a lesson in free-flowing attacking football they?ll never forget in a hurry: in fact, the entire performance had ?title-winners? written all over it. Look, Ma ? top of the League!

That, of course, set us up quite nicely for the Norwich game. Personally, I had serious doubts as to whether we could get something at Carrow Road: after the magnificent Dingles caper, my own personal thoughts on the subject showing distinct leanings along the general lines of ?After The Lord Mayor?s Show?. Wrong! True, the end result wasn?t pretty to watch, and we really could have stuffed up had things not run kindly for us at crucial moments, but courtesy most of our promotion rivals cocking up their own games, our 2-1 win saw us consolidate further our previously tenuous hold on top spot. Much feverish calculation on the coach on the way back, and delighted realisation gradually dawning that we only need a single point from our last two to gain promotion. The title itself? Probably four more, depending, of course, upon how other results go for us over the course of the next couple of weeks. It?s stretching it a bit, I know, but we could yet go into next Monday?s game versus struggling Southampton already promoted ? and with nary a ball being kicked in anger!

Yes, I?d be well satisfied with that, normally, but the trouble is, that elusive title?s now so near, I can almost taste the metallic tang of the Championship trophy as it?s held close to nose and lips. As we made to exit Carrow Road last Saturday, and after joining in with our travelling faithful?s lusty rendition of that surprise Albion hit, ??And now you gonna believe us?.we?re gonna win the League!?, I turned to The Fart and said, ?After all the years we?ve been watching the Baggies, and all the crud we?ve seen over that time, wouldn?t it be just great if we finally went and did it, for once?? I?ll leave it as an ?exercise for the reader? to figure out precisely where The Fart stands on this one!

Certainly, the number of people who witnessed our one and only First Division Championship season, back in 1919-20, must only run to the number of digits on one hand, by now. I don?t know personally of any still alive, and able to tell the tale. Billy ?Popeye? Martin was one, but he lost his life in tragic circumstances on his way to the ground quite some time ago. Unless any of you lot out there know any better, of course!

One thing I do know: Monday night?s going to be frantic and frenetic, and not just for our lot, either. Southampton are currently experiencing ?close encounters of the relegation kind?, the presence of a slightly-unhinged Richard Dreyfuss and sundry aliens plus giant mother-ship, complete with flashing coloured lights and sound-effects, strictly optional. So, unless Saturday?s results break kindly for them as well, it?s going to be pretty sweaty out there for both sides, isn?t it? All I ask for at this stage is that solitary point. Until the last day, the rest can go hang.

Loftus Road. Will we take to the field promoted, champions-elect, or, courtesy something completely unimaginable taking place versus Saints, coupled with other results going against us, balefully contemplating the play-offs only? Even by Albion standards, it would take a collapse of monumental proportions to deny us our rightful passage back to the Big Time ? so soddit. I?m going to assume we?ve achieved precisely what we?d set out to do, by then. Just feel free to slap me unmercifully about the face with the same slimy, malodorous kipper mentioned earlier in my piece, should I get it all badly wrong!

But it hasn?t always been ridiculously-high cortisol levels and adrenaline rushes for our faithful this season, whether they be stay-at-homes, or hesitant venturers into that Great Blue Yonder they call ?supporting your favourite football team away.? We former Dick Eds have had more than our fair share of funny moments, too, especially during the time I?ve been ?off the air?.

Take the journey back from Wembley, for example. For that one, all four of us, El Tel, ?Im Indoors, The Noise, plus missus and daughters, and myself, availed themselves of the services of Baggies Travel, albeit travelling with Sutton Branch SC (we?re all members, and have been for yonks) who managed to fill the best part of the coach before leaving Sutton itself, picking we intrepid travellers up at the ground itself.

Now where was I? Oh, yes ? on the way back from Wembley! And that was when I got an astonishing insight into how teenagers make dates, these days. Young Carly was the star of this particular show, seeing a lad she fancied something rotten, she then proceeded to get his mobile number (don?t ask!) then text him with the non-sexist equivalent of ?Congrats, luv ? you?ve pulled? The best bit? The youthful object of her desire was seated just TWO ROWS in front! Blimey, it was never like that in my day?..

Fast-forward, now, to Bloomfield Road where, for various reasons, all of ?em pretty sound at the time, we?d landed in the home end for the game. All four of us, in fact, The Noise having managed to shuffle off his mortal workaday coil for the occasion, for once. No problems on that score, really: keeping our respective heads very low indeed, and trying not to attract undue attention, was the name of that particular game Not that we had very much to shout about, what with Blackpool taking the lead, courtesy yet another set-piece (isn?t there ANY other way of our lot conceding?). And that?s precisely the way it stood with around 10 or so minutes left ? and what?s more I couldn?t see an equaliser coming from ANYWHERE.

Then salvation, in the form of a penalty, Kev Phillips putting it away ? just. Then, just two minutes later, Kev netted another from open play ? then, having done so, rushed like a rampant steam-train with the safety-valve blown, right towards the corner-flag, where the four of us were sitting! The Fart looked at me, and I looked at The Fart: clearly, the same thought as mine was whirling about his ancient head, viz: ?suppose he recognises us? If he does, we?re stuffed!? Fortunately for us, stratospheric adrenaline levels had taken possession of our hero?s brain by then: had it been otherwise, we cuckoos in the Bloomfield Road nest would have been well and truly ?outed? in pretty short order! But that wasn?t the end of it: next to me were sat both my other half, and The Noise. It was only when the (crowd!) noise levels diminished somewhat was I able to discern properly what they were both banging on about ? and it went something like this: (?Im Indoors, to The Noise, after Kev?s strike): ?Did you see that? Dear, dear, TERRIBLE defending?. Even my six-year-old could do better? ? (The Noise, bawling, for effect) ?BUCK YER BLOODY IDEAS UP, BLACKPOOL?..?

Me? Along with The Fart, I was literally shaking with mirth at their wonderfully thespian display, and trying like stink not to make it too obvious to all those Tangerines regulars seated around me! And, yes ? it IS bloody difficult not to leap up with unbridled joy, once the ball hits the opposition net!

Come the day of the Watford home game, we?d invited The Noise, plus Gruesome Junior Twosome, to our new gaff, for some pre-match nosh, in the form of nachos, plus all the trimmings, melted cheese on top, and lashings of sour cream and salsa for accompaniment. No guacamole, sadly ? our local supermarket didn?t have any. But the real ?star turn? of the afternoon was the jalapeno peppers ?Im Indoors had thoughtfully included in the whole shebang. Being someone who can?t tolerate spicy food very well, I steered well clear: not so, the Lewis clan, ingesting said monstrosities in total ignorance of the sheer megatonnage concealed so cunningly within by my beloved. And, like most spicy things, the stuff was on a time-delay fuse all of its own: within approximately 30 seconds of yomping the things down, much clutching of agonised Stokie throats then ensued! Shut the whole lot of ?em up, they did, which, as far as the Lewis clan are concerned, is quite an achievement, spicy cause or otherwise! The somewhat explosive nature of his pre-match cuisine must have addled Dad?s brain a tad, because when they left our place after the game, Pater somehow managed to miss signs for the M5, almost ending up in Dingle-Land for his multitudinous Stokie sins instead! Ooer.

Our next ?port of call? just has to be Molineux ? where else? A magnificent night for the blue-and-white persuasion, of course, and what better way of rounding things off, come the final whistle, than by leaving behind what has now come to be our ?calling-card? of choice, on these occasions ? Tesco plastic bags innumerable placed on the backs of Dingle seats with such loving care and devotion on the part of our faithful! Never mind, chaps ? all being well, you won?t have to face us for quite some time to come?..

Norwich? A magnificent team effort from our finest ? but I?m not so sure Norm Bartlam would agree with my appraisal. His problem? Before kick-off, he?d entered into a bijou wager with the turf accountants on site ? that Albion would finish the game 3-1 to the good, and getting fairly-decent odds for the bet, too. And it would have ended pretty satisfactorily for the lad, had that third ?goal? not been ruled out for offside, or Gera?s shot going in, rather than kissing woodwork!

Oh ? and I reckon two ?outings? are in order, as well. First off ? who was the travelling Baggie who parked his car next to ours, prior to embussing upon our respective Norwich-bound ?transports of delight?? The reason I ask is because among all the Baggies-related impedimenta adorning his car windows, there sat, in solitary splendour, one Villa badge! You know who you are ? just hope and pray I don?t find out your name!

The second? That nice Dave Watkin, deare, dearie me?? It appears a ?certain someone? with a name not a million miles distant from the aforementioned just happened to accidentally drop a certain item of property near The Hawthorns, prior to getting on the coach for Norwich. A PENSIONER?S BUS PASS, would you believe? What next, Dave, you poor old sod? ?Destiny With Dignity? promotional literature?

More from me at the weekend. Tara for now!

 - Glynis Wright

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