In the immortal (!) words of singer song writer and one time Boyzone heart throb Ronan Keating, “Life is a roller coaster, just gotta ride it.”
It has certainly been a week of swings and roundabouts at TLF Towers. I have never really known which is the peak and which the trough of the swings and roundabouts, which gives us a gain and which gives us a subsequent loss? They both require effort and neither take you anywhere. Presumably it depends on your preferred playground item? For me the roundabout probably just squeaks in ahead. Happy memories of grazed knees and palms as you and your mates launched yourselves off the roundabout as it reached maximum velocity. Landing on the broken glass left by the late nite drinkers always a more attractive option than the dog poo. Ah happy Lesta childhood memories.
Applying the above theory, the first roundabout on the horizon was the annual Girls Weekend Away. My best mates, a cottage outside Hay on Wye, too much booze and a hot tub, with the icing on the cake being the name of the village which promised the best blog title ever, “8 women, Three Cocks and a hot tub”. Well, a blog title or the title of my first film as I become a porn film director. Sadly my body had other ideas (about the going away bit, not the dodgy film) and after a night of dizziness, shaking and dehydration I was officially dropped from the girls weekend away squad. I had most definitely taken residence on the swing/hit a trough/entered a roller coaster down (delete to leave your preferred metaphor).
GUTTED. As was Mr TLF who having invested in a spectacular sulk at the fact that I was, “abandoning him again” for a whole 3 nights, reached a Champions League standard sulk at the idea that now an ill and slightly grumpy TLF would be cluttering up the house for the foreseeable future.
By Satday the patient was no longer terminal but was still exhibiting symptoms of grumpyitis. A good cure for that would have been to drag said TLF carcass to a football match but the mighty Saints and the mighty Lesta were both away. Proper ‘away’ at that, with trips to neither Weston or Newcastle seeming like something the doctor would order, unless they were teetering on the brink of being struck off and had a slightly vicious streak. The whole day seemed like one big fat swing/trough/down (delete blahblah). Put me in a corner, let me eat dirt and sulk.
One away win, one premier league goal scoring record equalled and one ‘Top of the league!’ later and I am wondering if Mr TLF has put something in my tea. Cue a roundabouty-peaky kind of a feeling. ‘We are T.O.P.’ my Dad informs me, ‘foxes go ballistic’ texts Davy Mac (we’ll gloss over what he said about the Saints capitulation at Weston), ‘Jamie Vardy’s having a party’ says Mr TLF (and quite a few others). I am giddy and it is not because I am ill. Twelve months to the day Lesta languished at the bottom of the league and now we are top…I always said that Ranieri appointment was the right one (ahem). I watch Match of the Day and the closing montage is of a player signed from non-league Fleetwood Town, who has just equalled the record for consecutive Premier League goals scored and plays for the often not very Mighty Lesta City. I’d like the roller-coaster parked here on a permanent basis please…..
Sadly by Tuesday the brakes fail and it’s all a bit downhill. When the high point of a game at Clarence Park is that I could store my trusty bicycle inside the ground, you know the roundabout is shut and the only option is the swings. It is a cold, dank and desolate evening. Saints are not quite as bad as some of my fellow terrace occupiers suggest (the difference between sh1t and sh1te, is the brilliant description from Davy when we make a substitution) and Lady Luck is definitely off sick, but it is a gloomy night, made worse by some poor refereeing (unless the rules really do say that simultaneous savage tackles by two Gosport players on a Saints players cancel each other out, hence no free kick). According to the local press we are a sparse crowd, I prefer ‘select’. Either way we are not happy and if Ronan serenaded us right now I think we’d cheerfully punch him on the nose.
St. Albans City 1 Gosport Borough 3
Consumed items: This is what happens when you have been ill AND it’s a skool night. NO bacon cob, NO bacon fries, half a Stella and a CUP of tea…no wonder we lost.
Financial outlay: losing, losing tickets…inevitable