Proverbs
There’s an old Nepalese proverb that says, ‘He who don’t buy ticket, don’t win prize,’ and the ancient adage proves to be, as Father Vye will readily attest, so very true. Having bought one out of eight winning strips of blue, he sought to choose, from a glittering array of no fewer than twenty seven beautifully wrapped offerings, the single box of Kellogg’s All-Bran that constituted the ‘extra prize’ in Monday evening’s ‘Christmas’ raffle. And judging by the tempo with which he’s setting about the advertising hoardings at the Home of Football this morning, there’s plenty to be said for the accrued benefits of avidly engaging in a high-fibre diet, however temporary the addiction may prove to be.
Monday evening’s oriental cuisine also agreed with Father Jones to such a degree that he returned to the restaurant two days later - and thankfully survived both visits. The man in question is also in agreement that, with The Chairman expected to return to Longlevens today following last week’s flapjack-induced illness, he won’t come to the ground dressed, as he usually does, as a bona fide coach of some standing, and instead arrives as befits an everyday punter on his way to the prawn sandwich hospitality boxes of Cardiff’s Principality Stadium. It’s only slightly more downmarket than The Home of Football, but downmarket is downmarket, whatever the gradient.
The Indian Night, after a few extra quid was found, realised a fabulous 1,086 pounds, a figure which, if you remove the comma, is the exact same date on which the Domesday Book - that hugely popular precursor of the Inland Revenue, was completed in a grotty little vestry at the back of our very own cathedral just off College Green and Westgate Street.
Today, Father Vye is joined at the still-dark Field of Dreams by Father Burgess and Father Ted, but the latter duo, in keeping with their ever-growing evangelical status, see the light and disappear moments before the former is accosted by The Groundsman as he attempts to swiftly down his post-morning-shift cuppa with two sugars. There follows a twelve and a half minute personalised anatomical discourse, ranging from the ills of the ileum to the stresses of the spleen and whatever, if anything’s, in between, until FV remembers that most important of Nepalese proverbs, ‘When cornered by groundsman, think fire exit,’ and makes an impressive and immediate getaway the moment his captor half turns to grab some milk from the bottom shelf of the adjacent fridge.
The Yellows, minus their absent Coach Scaramanga, who’s over the bridge photographing a (Saturday; who gets married on a Saturday?) wedding, play their best football of the season to date to see off a decent Newport side, much to the obvious glee of Coach Wixey, who on this evidence is clearly the one with the Golden Gun. While the second thirty of Game One is kicking off, Iron Man is writhing on the floor of the Inner Sanctum, embarking on twenty minutes of hard labour attempting to squeeze his hideously bright, brand new boots on to hopelessly uncooperative feet that would undoubtedly prefer traditional black with no emblems, whatever their relative size.
Some players take longer than others to get ready, HD and Lettuce are lined up and ready to go before WC has even begun to unpack his kit, some of which he placed in his bag himself, shortly after Breakfast at Riverview. Not quite Tiffany’s, but impressive nonetheless. Subway is oddly almost ready too, a newly discovered energy resulting from his Friday evening off training due, apparently, to one or other of the conditions to which The Groundsman was enthusiastically alluding just a couple of short hours earlier.
Swindon coach Beale is in the company of one of the Wiltshire association’s directors, who arrives sporting a black & yellow scarf with indeterminate motif - a gesture very much appreciated by Chairman Steadman, who welcomes him to the Field of Dreams with a flapjack in one paw and a handshake in the other. Not appreciated as much by the GPSFA patriarch however is The Photographer’s insistence of taking a family memento of all three generations of the Steadman clan together, then offering each of the grandkids a hastily framed copy at a fiver a time.
The ceremonial walk-on is delayed by a couple of minutes due to the Steadman-Hickey financial negotiations, but once all’s done and dusted if not quite resolved, Swindon claim an early lead thanks to a fine near-post header from Valere following a left-wing corner, before Kirk levels following initial interventions from Slider and Obieri.
Obieri then conjures a fine right foot finish after turning his marker, before profiting from a slightly under-hit back pass and a loose ball in the six-yard box to plunder a twelve-minute treble, before another opportunist Valere header from Clark’s free kick makes it 4-2 at the break.
High Definition has already produced one excellent point-blank reflex save to deny Valere a headed first-half hat trick and within two minutes of the restart is at it again with a near-post double save, firstly repelling Wimble and secondly Lowe.
In central midfield, Jones continues to protect the back three with a mixture of both steel and purpose, while Pathfinder, hideous pink & white boots and all, continues to plot a way through the visitors’ backline, resulting in a fourth Obieri goal and a fifth soon after from the spot, though the ten-yard strike is by some way the least convincing of his morning’s finishes.
Arguably the pick of the hosts’ scores however is reserved till last, Myatt’s right wing run and far post cross being excellently despatched first time by Lettuce; just reward for again getting into the right place at the right time.
This ding-dong game is still not over though; Iron Man, Subway and Kirk have plenty to do to rebuff a good Swindon side; HD tips another Clark free kick over the bar, Cook nets Swindon’s third following a bout of defending that would struggle to pass Ofcom’s post-10pm Channel Five censorship grading and Wasp, given a ten-minute run up front, strikes the outside of the near (wrong) post as the action continues right up to the final whistle.
This has been a highly entertaining, keenly-contested encounter from two committed teams, though the ongoing battle between Kadiri, the highly impressive Swindon centre back and Obieri, would not have looked out of place on a post-10pm Saturday evening football show; BBC1 this time though.
Mother Freeman, modelling the second bobble hat of her much vaunted local collection, a sleek grey number on this occasion and Mother May, showing off the only deer stalker in her comparatively less extensive assemblage, serve the post-match sausage & chips with far more panache than the previous waiters did, while The Photographer stands next to his big red machine with a hand-held placard advertising his latest unmissable ‘One for the Price of Two’ offer / scam (delete as applicable). No-one responds.
Saturday afternoon. The kit is washed in Lemon Fresh and Myatt’s Number Five shirt is inside out for the twelfth week running. The Chairman’s in a chirpy mood as Gloucester City’s FA Trophy tie with Biggleswade Town, wherever that is, has been moved to 3 o’clock on Sunday, which gives him a full twenty four hours to come up with a really good excuse as to why he can’t go.
At 6 o’clock, with knife & fork in hand and hunger pangs in stomach, El Supremo sits at his big wooden table awaiting his Saturday evening pick-me-up, when in walks Mrs Chairman to belligerently plonk down the empty flapjack tin before exiting and double-locking the front door behind her. Silence reigns both inside The Royal Residence and outside on the Royal Drive as the second most important Nepalese proverb, ‘He who steals flapjacks gets stung in end’, comes to mind.
And twenty four hours later, while watching another Domesday-like performance at the Hartwell & Spiers Jubilee Stadium, where Biggleswade, wherever that is, finish up winning 3-1, the most important Nepalese proverb of all, not for the first time, rears its nasty little head: ‘If Chairman ever reads blog, big axe fall on writer’s neck.’
Carpe Kathmandu Diem.
Gloucester: High Definition; Lawrence, Iron Man, Wasp; WC, Slider, Pathfinder, Issur Danielovitch; TGS; Lettuce, Subway.
Monday evening’s oriental cuisine also agreed with Father Jones to such a degree that he returned to the restaurant two days later - and thankfully survived both visits. The man in question is also in agreement that, with The Chairman expected to return to Longlevens today following last week’s flapjack-induced illness, he won’t come to the ground dressed, as he usually does, as a bona fide coach of some standing, and instead arrives as befits an everyday punter on his way to the prawn sandwich hospitality boxes of Cardiff’s Principality Stadium. It’s only slightly more downmarket than The Home of Football, but downmarket is downmarket, whatever the gradient.
The Indian Night, after a few extra quid was found, realised a fabulous 1,086 pounds, a figure which, if you remove the comma, is the exact same date on which the Domesday Book - that hugely popular precursor of the Inland Revenue, was completed in a grotty little vestry at the back of our very own cathedral just off College Green and Westgate Street.
Today, Father Vye is joined at the still-dark Field of Dreams by Father Burgess and Father Ted, but the latter duo, in keeping with their ever-growing evangelical status, see the light and disappear moments before the former is accosted by The Groundsman as he attempts to swiftly down his post-morning-shift cuppa with two sugars. There follows a twelve and a half minute personalised anatomical discourse, ranging from the ills of the ileum to the stresses of the spleen and whatever, if anything’s, in between, until FV remembers that most important of Nepalese proverbs, ‘When cornered by groundsman, think fire exit,’ and makes an impressive and immediate getaway the moment his captor half turns to grab some milk from the bottom shelf of the adjacent fridge.
The Yellows, minus their absent Coach Scaramanga, who’s over the bridge photographing a (Saturday; who gets married on a Saturday?) wedding, play their best football of the season to date to see off a decent Newport side, much to the obvious glee of Coach Wixey, who on this evidence is clearly the one with the Golden Gun. While the second thirty of Game One is kicking off, Iron Man is writhing on the floor of the Inner Sanctum, embarking on twenty minutes of hard labour attempting to squeeze his hideously bright, brand new boots on to hopelessly uncooperative feet that would undoubtedly prefer traditional black with no emblems, whatever their relative size.
Some players take longer than others to get ready, HD and Lettuce are lined up and ready to go before WC has even begun to unpack his kit, some of which he placed in his bag himself, shortly after Breakfast at Riverview. Not quite Tiffany’s, but impressive nonetheless. Subway is oddly almost ready too, a newly discovered energy resulting from his Friday evening off training due, apparently, to one or other of the conditions to which The Groundsman was enthusiastically alluding just a couple of short hours earlier.
Swindon coach Beale is in the company of one of the Wiltshire association’s directors, who arrives sporting a black & yellow scarf with indeterminate motif - a gesture very much appreciated by Chairman Steadman, who welcomes him to the Field of Dreams with a flapjack in one paw and a handshake in the other. Not appreciated as much by the GPSFA patriarch however is The Photographer’s insistence of taking a family memento of all three generations of the Steadman clan together, then offering each of the grandkids a hastily framed copy at a fiver a time.
The ceremonial walk-on is delayed by a couple of minutes due to the Steadman-Hickey financial negotiations, but once all’s done and dusted if not quite resolved, Swindon claim an early lead thanks to a fine near-post header from Valere following a left-wing corner, before Kirk levels following initial interventions from Slider and Obieri.
Obieri then conjures a fine right foot finish after turning his marker, before profiting from a slightly under-hit back pass and a loose ball in the six-yard box to plunder a twelve-minute treble, before another opportunist Valere header from Clark’s free kick makes it 4-2 at the break.
High Definition has already produced one excellent point-blank reflex save to deny Valere a headed first-half hat trick and within two minutes of the restart is at it again with a near-post double save, firstly repelling Wimble and secondly Lowe.
In central midfield, Jones continues to protect the back three with a mixture of both steel and purpose, while Pathfinder, hideous pink & white boots and all, continues to plot a way through the visitors’ backline, resulting in a fourth Obieri goal and a fifth soon after from the spot, though the ten-yard strike is by some way the least convincing of his morning’s finishes.
Arguably the pick of the hosts’ scores however is reserved till last, Myatt’s right wing run and far post cross being excellently despatched first time by Lettuce; just reward for again getting into the right place at the right time.
This ding-dong game is still not over though; Iron Man, Subway and Kirk have plenty to do to rebuff a good Swindon side; HD tips another Clark free kick over the bar, Cook nets Swindon’s third following a bout of defending that would struggle to pass Ofcom’s post-10pm Channel Five censorship grading and Wasp, given a ten-minute run up front, strikes the outside of the near (wrong) post as the action continues right up to the final whistle.
This has been a highly entertaining, keenly-contested encounter from two committed teams, though the ongoing battle between Kadiri, the highly impressive Swindon centre back and Obieri, would not have looked out of place on a post-10pm Saturday evening football show; BBC1 this time though.
Mother Freeman, modelling the second bobble hat of her much vaunted local collection, a sleek grey number on this occasion and Mother May, showing off the only deer stalker in her comparatively less extensive assemblage, serve the post-match sausage & chips with far more panache than the previous waiters did, while The Photographer stands next to his big red machine with a hand-held placard advertising his latest unmissable ‘One for the Price of Two’ offer / scam (delete as applicable). No-one responds.
Saturday afternoon. The kit is washed in Lemon Fresh and Myatt’s Number Five shirt is inside out for the twelfth week running. The Chairman’s in a chirpy mood as Gloucester City’s FA Trophy tie with Biggleswade Town, wherever that is, has been moved to 3 o’clock on Sunday, which gives him a full twenty four hours to come up with a really good excuse as to why he can’t go.
At 6 o’clock, with knife & fork in hand and hunger pangs in stomach, El Supremo sits at his big wooden table awaiting his Saturday evening pick-me-up, when in walks Mrs Chairman to belligerently plonk down the empty flapjack tin before exiting and double-locking the front door behind her. Silence reigns both inside The Royal Residence and outside on the Royal Drive as the second most important Nepalese proverb, ‘He who steals flapjacks gets stung in end’, comes to mind.
And twenty four hours later, while watching another Domesday-like performance at the Hartwell & Spiers Jubilee Stadium, where Biggleswade, wherever that is, finish up winning 3-1, the most important Nepalese proverb of all, not for the first time, rears its nasty little head: ‘If Chairman ever reads blog, big axe fall on writer’s neck.’
Carpe Kathmandu Diem.
Gloucester: High Definition; Lawrence, Iron Man, Wasp; WC, Slider, Pathfinder, Issur Danielovitch; TGS; Lettuce, Subway.
