Payback

Less than a year ago Pompey fans were revelling in Saints possible (and for a while it looked probable) demise. Today the boot is on the other foot. It's our turn to enjoy their suffering, I'm sure there will be plenty more where this came from.

The Curse Of The Apostrophe

SPOT THE  DIFFERENCE

St Mary's Stadium, Southampton.

Where Southampton were playing local rivals Portsmouth last Saturday.

Attendance at the match (including  a good many of my friends) 31,385

Atmosphere on the day: Red hot & volatile

St Marys, Isles of Scilly

Where my wife took me for a surprise birthday helicopter trip on the day of the above mentioned match.

Population of whole Island 1,666

Atmosphere on the day : Sleepy to comatose.

What a difference an apostrophe can make.

(To be fair it  was a wonderful trip and we spent a lovely day wandering around the island, sampling the local hostelries etc)

Que Sera Sera

Whatever will be will be

We're going to Wembley

Que Sera Sera *

Yes, Southampton FC have made it to Wembley for the final of the Johnstones Paint Trophy. I'll be there on 28th March watching team for the fifth time at Wembley in a different competion each time - FA Cup, Charity Shield, League Cup, Full Members (ZDS) and now Football League Trophy (JPT).

We're still in the FA Cup of course, only 2 matches away from another Wembley appearance or two, plus still in with a chance, although admittedly a fading chance at the moment, of yet another appearance there in a Play-off final at the end of the season.

We're only even in the JPT ( a competition for teams in the lower 2 leagues ) because of the severe mismanagement of the previous few years culminating in 2 relegations and our near extinction before being rescued at almost the last minute. But since then we have the air of a club on the up, crowds increasing, and setting new records as the highest crowd ever in every round of the JPT we have played in (and would no doubt sell out Wembley on our own if they'd give us all the tickets.) Compare and contrast with our neighbours down the road who appeared at Wembley themselves less than 2 years ago and will now be grateful to even exist by the end of next week.

Football, as they say, is a funny old game.

*Should have been a video here of 29500 people singing this as the final whistle approached, until I watched it and realised how much my hand was shaking at the time !

Saint Markus of Switzerland

Well, it's finally over.

After what seems to have become an annual summer ritual discussing who would be taking over a Southampton FC,(of course no-one ever did) this year it became a necessity. Forced into administration, without a buyer the club was in danger of disappearing completely.

As is always the case with Saints the sorry tale took many twists and turns before reaching it's conclusion.And what a conclusion.

Step forward Markus Liebherr. A name that, until the day before it all happened, was unknown to virtually all Saints fans. Whilst other interested - or maybe not really interested - parties ensured themselves plenty of press coverage the silent secretive Swiss remained quietly in the background before coming up with the goods.

Our new owner is a member of the Liebherr family who have built up a huge fortune with their engineering business - which includes supplying 2 recently installed massive cranes at Southampton Docks. Markus withdrew from the family business several years ago to work on new projects but is still worth a reported £2.5 billion in his own right. Yes that's billion, with a B. He has no intention of us doing a "Chelski", it would appear that his intentions are to take things one step at a time and methodically work our way back to where we belong, spending when necessary but not throwing money around needlessly. Sounds good to me.

How things can change. After suffering the torment of Rupert Lowe, relegation, administration, another relegation, points deductions and the serious possibility of disappearing we suddenly find ourselves in the old Third Division with minus 10 points and the 4th richest owner in English football.

I'll just repeat that. The 4th richest owner in English football.

Money doesn't of course automatically buy success - ask QPR. And I've always said I would never want a rich "sugar-daddy" taking over my club, it just wouldn't be us

But I was talking bollocks.

It sure as hell feels great.

Going, going ......

I keep intending to write an update on the ongoing saga of the takeover/buyout/rescue of Southampton Football Club. But with so many twists and turns a) things keep changing before I get the chance and b) if I did even fans of Dan Brown's novels would describe it as too far-fetched.

Suffice to say that it would appear that apart from our relegation, the rest of my predictions are now looking horribly wrong. Today the two main interested parties pulled out , one putting all the blame on the Football League's intransigence but in reality it looks unlikely that either ever had the necessary backing. Our only hope now is between a Swiss consortium that have been around for a while but managed to keep themselves virtually secret (possibly a good thing, after all the self promoting time wasters have come to no good), and a newly reported "foreign consortium". It would seem that if either are really interested the they'll have to move fast, as it appears that Friday is make or break day for the club. If, with management contracts ending today, and our unpaid players seemingly leaving by the hour , there is even a club left to save.

I'm hoping the Swiss come up with the goods - their very nationality gives an air of professionalism and efficiency - but if not even my usually optimistic self is fearing the weekend papers discussing English football's biggest financial casualty in history.

Southampton Football Club

I'm going to be lazy now and not even start to describe the goings on - and the goings - at Southampton Football Club and it's parent company this week. A quick Google News search for any or all of Southampton, administration, SLH, Rupert Lowe will tell you more than you need to know.

Just for the record, so I can refer back to it when I'm proved right, (and delete it if I'm wrong) this is how I see things panning out.

The Football League will do their usual fudge job and rule that provided someone buys the FC before end of season then no points deduction.

It's not goig to cost much to buy JUST the football club. Someone WILL buy the FC, my guess is about £3.5million. All they are really getting for that is players contracts and future gate receipts/tv income.

I think the £24m owed on the stadium (owned by SLH not the FC) is a bit of a red herring, it's like a mortgage, it's not all due to be paid now just the annual payment. Norwich Union will reluctantly agree to take ownership of the stadium and take a percentage of future gate receipts till they've got their money back (or sell it to a 3rd party who will do the same). It's not like repossessing house that they can re-sell, it's useless to them or anyone else unless SFC are using it. Similar deal with Staplewood (training ground)

SLH will cease to exist and Mr Lowe will never be heard of again in football circles.

We'll still get relegated this season even without points penalty

With a clean slate next season new owners will have learned from past mistakes. A much smaller squad will do a Leicester next season and storm Division 3 on average gates of 25,000.

Within 5 years the money coming into football will be much lower. We'll have a club back on it's feet and improving as others (bigger clubs) start suffering what we've already been through. We'll be in a position to buy back our own stadium whilst others are losing theirs and be totally self reliant again.

Within 5 years there will be only ONE team in Hampshire, Portsmouth's structure means they have far less chance of getting out of their mess than we have. (Ok I forgot Eastleigh).

Champions League Winners 2018.


OK The last bit was a joke.

Watching The Game

On Saturday I had the misfortune to go down the pub and watch Coventry v Southampton live on Sky. (I say misfortune as being a Saints fan the final score of 4-1 to Coventry flattered us).

On any of the multiple screens around the pub I was able to watch the game with a pint in my hand, in the dry (it was raining there) with close-ups, multi- angles, and slow motion replays of all the main incidents.

Nothing really new there then. Except the game was played mostly to a backdrop of empty blue seats with an attendance of 15518 seated in a 32500 capacity stadium. Yet there was I, and many others standing literally shoulder to shoulder like sardines in a packed pub watching the same game. It was just like the old days - the old days at the game itself I mean.

This Weeks Spot The Spectator Competition

I doubt this was a one off, I'm sure there were plenty of pubs in Southampton equally packed. Despite being the home team no doubt there were plenty in Coventry watching in a similar manner.I understand that this is being repeated week in week out around the country. I really fear that the game is on a downward spiral, big changes are going to be needed to bring those missing thousands back to the grounds again.

Crunch Time

As I write, Saints have dropped into the relegation zone. Assuming all the teams above us lose we still need a minimum of 2 points with just 2 games to play.

The first on Monday night against a team who (realistically) needs just a point in front of their own fans to gain promotion back to the Premier League. Even worse it's live on tv, for some reason we take great delight in embarrassing ourselves in front of worldwide audiences. The final game at hone to know that beating us could (depending on other results) earn them a place in the coveted Play-Offs. So those points look a long way off.

As a fan is it being disloyal to admit it? - we are well and truly f*%#ed. Not least because on the day we dropped into the bottom 3 my shareholder invite to attend the hastily called EGM dropped on my doormat. Years of internal wrangling at board level have destroyed the very heart of the club.

Maybe it's karma, maybe the club is simply getting exactly what it deserves.

The only saving grace is that traditionally we have been able to pull a top performance out of the bag when it's least expected

Ah well 1 week to go and we'll know for sure.

The Southampton Roller Coaster Ride Continues

Despite appearances the picture on the left is not a roller coaster track. It is an mathematically accurate graph portraying the emotions involved in being a Southampton fan.

For as long as I can remember they have been the masters of unexpected euphoria one minute followed by stunning disappointment the next. Countless times over the years they have beaten - even thrashed - the top teams, only to follow it up with a stunning defeat at the hands of the leagues lesser teams.

Last season we looked like we were languishing in mid-table only for a late run to push us into a play-off spot. From nowhere came a massive wave of optimism - we were on our way back to the promised land (well the Premier League Money Machine anyway). We then contrived to lose our home leg off our play-off only to drag ourselves back into it with a glorious performance away from home, only to shoot themselves in the foot with an own goal and a missed penalty.

This year we were expecting nothing less than the same again - or better. But it hasn't worked out quite like that. Despite a few false dawns we have found ourselves sliding ominously towards a relegation spot. Last Tuesday evening we were at home to relegation rivals Leicester. If things didn't go our way we could have ended up below the dreaded dotted line on the league table. We managed to win, our first in god knows how long - and vital it was too, for all other results went the ways would have preferred them not to. Suddenly things were looking a little more rosy, the new managers ideas were obviously now having an effect and the only way was up. So off they went on Saturday up to Hull, the fans at least in a slightly more confident mood. So what happened? Should have put money on it really, a 5-0 thrashing that apparently flattered us.

With 7 games left the season could now go one of two ways. That latest defeat - the 3rd by 5 goals this season so far - could be the kick up the arse wake up call the players need and spur them on to a few decent performances (or at least a commitment level in excess of 50%) that sees them climbing the table to safety. Or the mental scars of such a defeat immediately after achieving a win could destroy any speck of confidence they had left.

Which way will it go? Who knows, but please note that in that roller coaster picture - I mean graph - you can't see the end !

Underwhelmed

I'm not even going to comment on Saints performance against Bristol Rovers on Saturday in which we seemingly conspired to get ourselves knocked out of the FA Cup. Yes I am, it was pathetic, inept, unprofessional, embarrassing, lazy, gutless - I could get out my thesaurus and find 100 more words but I think you get my drift. And all in front of a worldwide tv audience as well. Still, I suppose you can expect no more from a club in free-fall, with a board that doesn't have a clue which way to turn, to joint-caretaker-managers leaving everyone wondering who does what, to players who seemingly don't give a toss.

Yesterday tea-time the club took the first step back to normality. Having been linked with God knows how many names as manager over the past few weeks they have finally appointed their man. Dowie? Coleman? Adams? McLaren? Shearer? Nope, the man given the task of inspiring 1000s of disenchanted supporters and more importantly convincing a squad of unfit lazy players hat if they don't get their arses in gear they'll be playing in the old division 3 next season is none other than Nigel Pearson. A manager so experienced he has had a total of 37 games in charge at 3 different clubs in a 10 year period, winning just 9 of them. No offence, and I am all for giving the guy a chance but it's hardly the big name that everyone has been expecting. He's been given a 1 year rolling contract. This appointment to me sends out 3 possible signals.

1. The club is in such a poor state financially they have had to take the cheapest option.
2. The club has given up all ambition of returning to the big time and is happy to tread water for the foreseeable future.
3. The club is still expecting a take-over at any time and are assuming that any new owners will want to bring in their own man

I hope for the sake of te future of our club it's number 3 but I've a horrible feeling number 2 is the more realistic.

I Was There - A Great Moment In Time

Things still don't seem to be getting any better for us Saints fans. Until now that is when somebody has finally managed to upload a video of possibly our greatest ever goal. Not for quality of the goal, just for it's sense of occasion. Injury time against our "friends" from down the road, knocking them out of the FA Cup in the process a their own ground. Ironically injury time was only added for the time taken to treat Mark Dennis after their crowd momentarily took a break from hurling coins at us for the full 90 minutes and decided to aim at our players instead.

The best bit of the video is the crowd reaction to the goal. Over 8000 of us packed into that end , nowadays it's all seated of course and just 2000 have to sit sedately behind that goal (although admittedly recent visits there have given us nothing to cheer about). Match of the Day used a different camera angle of the same goal for the closing credits, I remember being able to pick myself out in the crowd, then I disappear in a mass of bodies surging probably 20 or more steps down the terraces. If ever proof was needed that all seater stadiums don't have the same atmosphere this is it - safer yes, but fun? - not any more.

Click triangle button to view, then replay over and over again

FA Cup 3rd Round Day

Normally one of the most exciting weekends of the football calender, my own team, Southampton, has been drawn against Leicester. And I really don't care.

"The Cup" usually manages to conjure up something exciting, and no doubt it will do this year, but I have no expectations that any drama will be involving my team this time round. In a season more boring than any I can remember the cup, baring some miraculous improvement in form creating a now unlikely push for promotion, was the last hope for any excitement this year. Yet when the draw was made, who did we come up with? One of the "Big 4" ? No. A non-league minnow? No. We got the team we had played the day before. Yaaaaaaaaaaaawn. Sums up the season really.

So, I have no hopes or dreams that I'll be seeing scenes like this again come May this year. I'll try to extend my excitement by donating funds to the local bookie in the vain hope that some unlikely underdogs will come good against top flight opposition.

And you never know - Saints may surprise me yet !

We're On Our Way To Wembley

(click picture to enlarge)

I thought this picture was lost for ever, but I found it during a rummage through the attic today.

This was from the front page of the local (as it was called then) Southampton Evening Echo on 1st May 1976.(I am now reliably informed that the photo was in fact from our trip to the semi-final, see comments section) No Southampton fan will need reminding what that day was, it was the day the Saints went to Wembley as huge outsiders and won the FA Cup, beating the mighty Manchester United 1-0 (Bobby Stokes 83rd minute God rest his soul).

I went on a coach organised by the Running Horse (later to be renamed Wig & Pen ) pub, which was situated up an alleyway next to the Echo Office. (Both the pub and the Echo Office are long gone, demolished to make way for the soulless West Quay Shopping Centre). Clearly the photographer hadn't intended too travel to far to find a subject for his photo. Although by the time he took it we were probably the only fans left in town - apparently our coach had broken down en route to picking us up and a replacement was frantically being sought - not easy on a day when virtually every coach south of London had already been commandeered. But eventually one turned up and we were on our way.

I have very few memories of the game itself, apart from our goal and the last 7 minutes (which seemed like 7 lifetimes). I do remember Man Utd hitting the woodwork from only a few yards out on about the 60 minute mark and just knowing then that it was going to be our day. Worryingly (it was to a sober 14 year old anyway) the stadium terracing - I was upper tier behind the goal - was literally bouncing like a trampoline for the final few minutes of the game.

I have clearer memories of the journey there and back than the match.
Like about 40 desperate men exiting the coach in a traffic jam to relieve themselves against a garden fence, just after the last had finished an extremely snobbish looking woman in a fur coat, nose in the air and walking a poodle had to negotiate 40 rivers of piss streaming across the pavement.
Being able to jump off the coach before it had got out of the Wembley coach park and buy an Evening Standard with the match report in it - (whether that was a reflection on the speed of the printers or the slowness of the Wembley traffic I'm not sure).
Travelling up to London every bridge on the M3 (was it a motorway back then? it might even have been the A33) being covered with banners and waving fans, and the same bridges on the way back with the same banners but around ten times the number of happy cheering fans.
Getting back off the coach in the centre of Southampton to find the whole City Centre had turned into a party zone. I wasn't around for the war but any film clips I have seen of V.E. Day had nothing on that evening !.
Two men - they're in the photo - playing banjos all the way there to get the coach singing. Along with the lack of replica shirts (unheard of in those days) the photo is a great example of how following football has changed over the years - and not necessarily for the better.

And I suppose I had better own up, I'm the one far right front row, split in half on the edge of the photo. Did I really dress and have hair like that ?!?!?!

More Rubbish From The Press

Today the Daily Mirror reported that my team Southampton's manager had cleared his desk and was leaving the club.

Within a couple of hours Burley himself had phoned the local radio station to put the record straight and the club's Official Site had also published a denial (quite possibly their quickest reaction yet to any story).

How can newspapers get away with continuously printing stories that are so blatantly false ? I guess as long as people keep buying them they'll carry on doing it - I rarely bother myself these days.

Although being a lifelong Saints fan I can't help thinking that like most other stories about our club over the years there's no smoke without fire.

Boring Boring Premiership

Once again another Premiership season draws to a predictable close.
Surprise surprise, ManUre, Chelski, Arse and Liverpool (guess which one of the 4 I like) take the Champions League places, the top 2 losing just 8 games between them . The title was only a 2 horse race probably since Xmas and apart from the fans of the 2 clubs involved no-one gave a toss who actually won it.

The only "excitement" was the relegation battle where - again - surprise surprise, 2 of last years promoted teams and a team who had 3 managers in the season eventually went down.

Compare this with the Championship, where the top 2 automatically promoted teams both lost over 25% of their matches and now, with 46 games plus one play off match so far, my team Southampton along with 3 others will STILL think they have something to play for. One of the 4 will end up going up to the Promised Land of the Premiership.

Do I hope we make it? - Of course I do.

Will I be disappointed if we don't? - Not one bit

A Trip Down Memory Lane - Who Are We ?

My daughter yesterday presented me with the following, which she found whilst tidying her room.


It brought back memories, I had forgotten all about them.

"What is it?" I hear you ask, - well when I say "hear" I am speaking metaphorically, obviously you are miles away (unless you are the so far unlocated neighbour who keeps logging in to my unsecured wireless connection) - or unless of course you manage to say "What is it?" very very loudly.

It's an Old Codgers calling card.

Calling cards were very fashionable amongst "crews" with a passion for football violence, often left on the prostrate body of a victim so that he had the small satisfaction of knowing who it was that jumped him unexpectedly and beat the living daylights out of him.

But the Old Codgers were different.

They were not interested in violence, ( actually it was discussed regularly, I guess for "not interested" read "no longer capable"). Eating cakes was more their style. And although a few members were happy to indulge in a pint or two (or seven) to give them dutch courage before a "meet" (and scarily enough most of those were the women), most were happy with a good old cup of tea.

Most of the arrangements took place on that new fangled interweb thing. Unbeknown to them these discussions had been infiltrated by the Old Bill (or Young Bill as most referred to them). After one particular session of pre-match online bravado before a home tie against their biggest enemy P****mouth (well second biggest enemy, incontinence being the first), half of Hampshire Constabulary stood by red faced, realising that this time the Football Intelligence Unit had belied it's middle name as they watched a couple of dozen old ( and not so old) men and women tucking into croissants and cream cakes at a local patisserie.

They were very vocal at games, with a great repertoire of songs, which unfortunately tended to fade away early as few could remember all the words. They loved a good old knees up as well, although bringing the knees back down again proved difficult for some.

They often travelled to away games en masse , OAP Rail Cards and/or bus passes enabling cheap travel. They showed no fear of being in a strange town, their breakfast time "taking" of Debenhams Cafeteria in Manchester City Centre back innJanuary 2004 is still discussed in hushed tones today.

Calling cards were left in numerous locations, if anyone has found one I hope it has been treasured, these will be worth a fortune on the Antiques Roadshow one day. They also had a flag to rally behind, although that was last seen on the platform of Southampton Central as their train headed for P****mouth - remembering which train to catch and and to collect all ones belongings proved simply too difficult for some.

Nowadays the Old Codgers are like a sleeping giant, keeping their heads down and resting to avoid any further Police interest in their activities (being very easy to catch nowadays with a likelihood that any resulting sentence would effectively mean a life sentence), but eagerly awaiting the call. And with the "Yoof" currently filling their void, showing respect for no-one and being unable to sing a song with a proper tune, the Phoenix may be rising from the ashes sooner than expected.

Hello, Hello we are the Codgers Crew .........

Football - Is It The End Of A Love Affair ?

"What has happened to football?"

Or maybe I should be asking
"What has happened to me?"

Since I was a small boy I have loved going to football. So why, now, can I simply not be arsed any more? It's something that I never thought would happen the game seems to have lost it's appeal.

Admittedly high ticket prices have an effect but it's more than that, I think I'd feel the same if they were giving the tickets away.

I was brought up watching the Southampton FA Cup winning side, and the non-stop entertainment under McMenemy and Nichol. In a time when we seemed to win (or lose) 3-2 or 4-3 more often then 1-0 games were exciting. But more to the point games were important. It was a time when almost every fan of a top flight team could start the season dreaming of winning the league. Whilst an unexpected winner was rare, not only my own Southampton, but the likes of Ipswich, Watford, QPR and Swansea all made strong challenges for the title, ending runners up. Nowadays the top 4 of the Premiership are the top 4 till eternity unless rules on football finances change. So what is there to get excited about if you support any other team?

Lets take for example Blackburn v Middlesbrough (it could be 2 of probably a dozen teams). You sit through 90 minutes in the hope of some entertainment. But even if you win the game, so what?. Not likely to go down, not likely to win the league or even break into the top 4, so what difference does that result make? Nothing to get excited about. They wonder why many grounds (including those of the 2 mentioned teams) lack atmosphere these days. Many blame all-seater stadia - I blame total lack of interest and enthusiasm of a good proportion of fans who turn up for no other reason than habit.

At the moment at least Saints have the "excitement" of a promotion battle for the rest of this season. But even if they succeed, so what? the only excitement next season will be managing to avoid relegation again.

Maybe it is just me - after all there are still thousands who turn up week in week out. But I would put money on it that the majority of those who were watching 15 years ago or more enjoyed "the old days" a lot more than they are enjoying it now, no matter who they support.

And for any of my "football friends" reading this, whilst I have no enthusiasm for games at the moment, I really miss the social side. Maybe I should go to the pub at noon and meet up before the game, have a good old chat and a few pints, stay there for a couple more pints whilst everyone else goes off to the match at 2.30pm, and still be there happily awaiting their return (not to mention around £20 a match better off) just after 5pm.

Now that sounds like a plan !

Cornwall is better than Devon

We - that's Mrs W. and I - spent New Year in then West Country. And having visited a few times now we have to agree, Cornwall definitely beats Devon hands down.

Last time we went down there was for a weeks camping in the summer. Unfortunately our journey was delayed slightly when the car engine simply blew up on the A30 just outside Exeter. Our best memories of Devon on that trip were sunbathing on a grass verge at the side of a busy dual carriageway for around 3 hours waiting for the tow truck to get us to our camp-site. The rest of the holiday, once we reached Cornwall, was great, great weather and beautiful scenery. As far as I know the car could still be there, certainly the helpful man at the garage in Perranporth phoned me several months later as it was still on his forecourt (legally it was no longer mine by then but I was as helpful as I could be).

We liked Cornwall so much that along with the rest of my family we have bought a holiday bungalow near St Ives, which meant we had somewhere to stay on New Years Eve. So we packed our overnight bags and had an easy traffic free journey down there, arriving mid-afternoon on the 31st. As we drove through Devon along the A30 the weather was awful, and passing the point where the previous car expired I had my fingers crossed. The radio was already tuned into Atlantic FM which was reporting high winds and heavy rain down in St Agnes. Yet almost as soon as we crossed the Cornish border the winds dropped, the rain ceased and (small) patches of blue sky appeared.


We arrived at our holiday home, unpacked and then had a pleasant drive around St Ives and the neighbourhood before having dinner, getting into our fancy dress costumes (schoolboy and schoolgirl if you must know, sorry, no pics) and drove up to St Agnes for a party at the St Agnes Hotel. Mrs W was a bit worried we'd been stitched up on the fancy dress but merely driving through the village she was immediately re-assured by the sight of fairies cowboys and pirates (not sure if the latter were actually fancy dress or off to work, do pirates still operate in those parts?) wandering the streets. We had a great night. It was advertised as a School Disco and it sounded like the DJ must have been at school with me, I think it was well past 11pm before he played a record I hadn't bought when it was released. And how refreshing to reach midnight without the dreary Auld Lang Syne, instead the roof was raised with a rousing rendition of Bohemian Raphsody (not exactly traditional but it so seemed to fit the spirit of the evening). It turns out NYE is not an exception down that way, clearly the locals need little excuse at anytime to get into fancy dress ( as a quick look at a friends blog here will prove). I couldn't help thinking how different it was to a night out back home. Here we were, in a packed pub miles from home knowing only a few people there yet feeling totally at ease. At home, any evening spent in a town centre pub involves checking one's back at regular intervals.


Next day, I woke to broken cloud and had a pleasant walk through the woods nearby after breakfast before popping back to St Agnes to pick up friends. For on New Years Day we were heading back to dreaded Devon, as Saints were playing away at Plymouth. Literally, as we crossed the Tamar bridge into Devon, on came the wipers as the rain started to pour. We parked up 2 minutes walk away from a pub in Mutley Plain (the name alone sounds dodgy) where I had arranged to meet others to give out match tickets. In that 2 minute walk were probably the two loudest claps of thunder I have ever heard, and the heavens opened. Just making it into the pub before being totally soaked, we were still trying to buy drinks when yet another thunder clap shook the whole building to it's foundations. The barmaid literally took off, landing about 2ft behind where she had been standing. For a second I thought she had been electrocuted by the pump she was pouring my drink from but it turned out she had literally jumped in fright. With glasses and bottles still rattling everyone went straight to the windows and looked out, within a couple of minutes we were surrounded by 2 inches of hailstones.

Now I'm not sure whether it was an effect the weather or simply a reflection the average Plymothian (I had to look that one up to check) but first Mrs W, and then, one by one the rest of our group, started feeling rather ill at ease. Being away fans in any strange pub generally has a certain edge to it, but despite being recommended as "away fan friendly" by a local, this one had a feeling of The Slaughtered Lamb from American Werewolf in London about it. In keeping with the werewolf theme, when one of the locals started barking uncontrollably despite attempts by his friends to stop him, we decided that a different pub may be the better option. So we quickly drunk up and slipped and slid through the hailstones back to the car, then parked at the ground and after a 5 minute shivering stroll we arrived wet through and totally frozen at the second pub. Immediately we felt at home, everywhere we turned were faces we recognised and not a single woof to be heard. We found more of our friends, all nice and warm, lucky for them they had been in there ages. The big debate was whether or not the match, due to start in 90 minutes, would even be played. Looking outside, pulling faces at the local Janner Chavs "snowballing" our window with handfuls of hail it looked very very unlikely. But on it was, and off we reluctantly trudged to the ground, stopping only to buy a (vastly inferior) Devon pasty from the back of a van. We spent the whole game shivering in the back row trying to raise some enthusiasm as our team, playing rubbish as they seem to do every time I watch them away, struggled to a one all draw. The most memorable incidents of the whole game were Mrs W discovering that her seat number was 666 (very appropriate) and then the same young lady taking her gloves out of her pocket only to discover she had brought a pair of my socks instead. It was so cold she put them on anyway !

Finally came the long awaited full-time whistle and it was time to leave. Trying to keep warm with an undercooked burger as we waited about half an hour to get out of the car park, we finally started the long drive home in the rain. Which, by the way, stopped as if by magic immediately we entered Dorset.

So, I'm afraid to say I can only speak as I find, from personal experience Cornwall is better than Devon by a mile. If only it was possible to get to the former without having to pass through the latter.