Friday, 6 December 2013

250 Words: Three pints of Young’s Special Bitter, my brother (three pints of Foster’s) and a Carling Cup Final defeat (bit late, still topical!*)

Got the call just before two and quickly finished my tea before walking into town, ringing David on arrival. The Ashes was rammed so we looked elsewhere: with Earl’s also packed, we checked the Druid’s and Society Rooms: neither, unsurprisingly, showing the game.  The Albion was shut so we took overheard advice and went to The Old House At Home (quite a strain on the word count, that one) which was full but we got a place to stand and watch. 

The match passed by, interesting but goalless.  The atmosphere inside the pub was heated with chanting from both sets of fans.  Mind you, a lot of our fellow punters looked a bit scary and there seemed a slight air of menace. 

The first explosion was the worst.  A great flash, deafening bang and smoke soon rising from the ground.  At half time a miracle occurred and we got the table we’d been standing by.  I then briefly escaped the heat to get cash, being successful at the second machine, nodding hello to a man from the first. 

The second half drew to a close with extra time to come.  David went to the loo leaving me holding on.  He returned with pints and said something about being threatened.  I went anyway and some of the scary looking people were very courteous on my return. 

The penalties went the wrong way and we left abruptly.  It was a long walk home (made longer by my searching shops for part-baked bread).



* At the time of writing

No comments:

Post a Comment