I’m starting to feel like a bad Eurovision entry; that doesn’t mean I am in touch with my inner, spandex clad, dodgy Norwegian crooner. Rather it was the joy of yet another weekend of being nul points TLF. I thought the danger this season of juggling two teams would be the uncanny ability to always choose the wrong game. Whoever I eschewed would win, whoever I graced with my presence would lose. That would at least have left me with a sense of irony….But no instead we go with double the teams, double the failure. And also a lost headline opportunity, “Whitehawk Down”.
But at least on Satday I had treble the pubs.
Courtesy of HatBoy my pre-match ritual was enhanced with a small pub crawl-ette. The white swan, the blacksmith’s arms (Amstel on draft no less!) can be crossed of my pub to do list (obviously metaphorical not real) plus a swift beer in the previously visited mermaid for good measure. There was some consternation from our esteemed programme editor about Hatboy’s selection of drinking establishments, which clearly weren’t considered suitable for such a delicate little flower as yours truly.
Possibly even less suitable is having four beers pre-match without a great deal to eat. I thought I was fine but my spectacular rant when it appeared that the opposition fans were in possession of a hunting horn, “How dare you. Only Lesta can play one of those! Eff off you tossers,” suggested otherwise. And was duly noted by my terrace companions, although they didn’t come between me and the bar at half time (sensible chaps). Still on the plus side it did mean that a fourth defeat in five games did pass by fairly painlessly. And for that HatBoy, TLF is truly thankful.
St Albans 2 Whitehawk 3
Lager consumed 4 pints (Stella, Amstel, Heineken) 1 bottle Bud.
Pre-match and mid match snackage: 1 not so good pulled pork cob. 1 very fine bacon cob courtesy of Andy. 1 packet bacon fries – whose magical powers are clearly waning.
Losing raffle tickets of indeterminate colour 10.
Brotherhood of TLF