Frome is where the heart is

Or not as the case maybe.

Fresh with the buzz that comes from a few days off work, the heady and tantalising aroma of a possible play off place, the sugar rush that comes with having eaten my own body weight in chocolate eggs (and yes the chocolate does taste different doesn’t it) and inevitably the Stella infused confidence of match day and lo and behold I had kind of inveigled my way into getting a lift with Davy for the Frome away game. I don’t think the way my request was phrased would necessarily win any prizes in ‘politest request of the year a la Jane Austen’. It was less, “Lord Davy Mac may I, being a weak and gentle female, presume on your good nature and perchance enquire as to whether one might be able to request a small space in your carriage on the morrow whence you to Frome?” And more, “Space in your car on Satday?” But it worked.

Midweek I was worried it hadn’t as Davy wasn’t replying to my texts, but that will be down to a newly diagnosed medical condition which leaves me unable to write the number 7 when slightly tipsy, preferring to scribble a rather incoherent 2 (drunk in charge of a pen. Guilty as charged m’lud). Fortunately he tracked me down, but by then the full implications of having a few days off work, i.e. I am now behind with everything at work meant that I had to forgo the road trip (and I was gutted cos I love a road trip) and instead would be stuck at my desk for the duration with only twitter and the message board for company.

The pre-match tweets and some of the photos helped keep my football-deprived spirits up, although it occurred to me that it might have been a stroke of luck that I wasn’t going as I would have been a tad under-dressed by the looks of things…

Look out Frome!

Look out Frome!

So an afternoon of following the game via twitter and texts from John. Some of which were more reassuring than others, “nervy now” didn’t help the heart rate, although the “now to sample the best chips in the league”, was less worrying and more just cruel. By the final 10 minutes I had turned to drink and a small amount of pacing. Official confirmation finally arrives via John and twitter. We had the one point we needed and were in the play-offs. BOOM! Permission to bounce around the house formally granted. Time to loudly and repeatedly inform Mr TLF (who had sensibly retreated to the kitchen for this end of season brouhaha) of this fact and then slightly more quietly, “So I’ll be out on Wednesday at the semi final. Against Cambridge. But played at Histon.”

Time to embrace yet again the hideous disease that is play-off stress…..Bring it on!

Glutton for Punishment Fox

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