Fifteen or so minutes to go in the Brighouse v Sunderland game, in the Women’s FA Cup Third Round. Sunderland make a change. Sadly, despite valiant efforts our team Brighouse lost this one to the visitors from the division above. Good effort, but not quite enough.
This was supposed to be my last full day here before travelling, but bad weather has meant my flight being postponed 24 hours. That probably means bad weather in St Helena, but my experience outdoors in Yorkshire today suggests the conditions might spread up the whole of the Atlantic, frankly — this afternoon was dreadful, with rain and high winds.
None of which stopped 23 (including the referee) madmen in shorts competing this afternoon in division 2 of the Halifax and District Football League — or me (and about five other people) choosing to watch them. Here at Warley Rangers you are only fifteen promotions, and a few ground improvements, from the Premier League, so it still matters.
This is Wainhouse Tower‘s second appearance on the blog — the world’s tallest folly, dontcha know.
The boys watch the real thing, being played outside (Wakefield Trinity LFC v Hull Utd LFC, as it happens). The man watches the TV version. I watch them all.
This sculpture stands outside the Tameside Stadium in Ashton-under-Lyne, east of Manchester. It commemorates the three men born in the town who have World Cup winners’ medals. The trick being that only two of them — Jimmy Armfield (left) and Geoff Hurst (right) — won them with England. In the middle is Simone Perrotta, who was born in Ashton but whose parents moved back to Italy when he was young. This is a decent sculpture; it looks dynamic, and different from each side.
Saturday afternoon at Widnes FC, who attracted just 77 fans, officially, to the large stadium that normally houses the rugby league team. Even for a rugby-favouring town, that’s a rather pathetic crowd. I was one of them, but this was one of those games I could have done without; maybe the choice of shot is intended to convey this feeling.
Actually it became quite a nice day after this rain shower had done its thing. But at this point in time, those with brollies were grateful of them. Those without — like myself — well, we just had to make do.
A day out at the football, and it was Clare’s idea. She sits there looking rather amused at the boisterous but harmless fellow Morecambe FC fans who took over The Leopard pub near Doncaster station at lunchtime. The stencil of Pelé, to the right, also sets the tone. Sadly, no one was feeling as boisterous after watching a rather tame 1-0 defeat, but that was all still to come.
A 5am alarm call, pick up the car, pack the car, engage in a five and a half hour drive from home to Dundee (a pretty good run, in fact). Pick up key for Joe’s new flat, travel to said flat, unload car, hang around a bit to check all was OK and then…. well, what would you to do unwind from all that on a Saturday afternoon? Something different perhaps, but my habits are well enough ingrained. I did feel like this corner flag at Dundee Violet FC, however.
As I move inexorably towards my dotage there are increasing signs that I am basically losing it, including the fact that I had a relatively serious conversation today with a six-foot-high chicken in a Bradford City shirt. Sorry — not a chicken, officially this is a bantam. What was it/he doing at Brighouse Town FC today? Well, that’s mainly what the conversation was about.
My latest trip to Ewood Park, this time to see Morecambe FC (still buoyed up by their recent win at Wembley) play Blackburn Rovers in the League Cup. The stewards had plenty of visiting Morecambe fans to deal with but not, it has to be said, a great many Blackburnians. Perhaps this was because they knew the result was fated, as I was in attendance. This was my fifth visit to the ground as far as I can ascertain, and Blackburn Rovers have now lost every one of them: a 1-2 defeat to the mighty Shrimps this evening continuing the run. I won’t be back for a little while, guys, I promise.
Being 42 