By the pricking of my thumbs…

After the hi jinx, bonhomie and snowy tomfoolery of early March, there was a distinct downturn on Planet TLF. And if a DD isn’t an acceptable excuse for a fortnightly rather than weekly missive then frankly Dear Reader,
Tough.

Sometimes when all is going wrong in the football world (and The Mighty Saints were briefly doing nothing to make us smile)TLF can generally rely on the world of kulture to restore good cheer amidst the slings and outrageous fortunes of the general crap that life flings at us all. Macbeth is, in 2018 like a bus. TLF has waited for ages for one to come along and then all of a sudden the National Theatre and the RSC both come driving up to the theatrical bus stop.

First up, hot(!) on the heels of our footballing snowman was a trip to the National Theatre. Sadly the bus that is this particular Macbeth production is most definitely not your luxury coach. More ancient minibus that may or may not deliver you to your destination and will certainly make the journey as uncomfortable as possible with its gung-ho treatment of the text and half-ar$ed direction. Sorry I know that metaphor has been tortuously mixed but hopefully you get the idea.

After the midweek disappointment of the Macbeth fixture, there was at least football to look forward to, but some rather deferred gratification on this occasion. In the great belief that travel broadens the mind, TLF had locked onto the club organised coach trip to Hungerford for the Monday night away fixture. That of course required a challenging domestic discussion akin to Brexit negotiations. Fortunately me and Mr TLF are a little bit more on the ball than both David Davis and Michel Barnier and sure enough compromise was reached. TLF would absent herself for the Satday home fixture against Truro and invest in Quality Time with MR TLF (with limited access to Match jupdates via Twitter) and could then travel guilt free, and banter heavy to Hungerford in the company of Julie and others.

Maybe I should stop calling it Macbeth and refer to it as the Scottish Play, because TLF’s luck wasn’t in. Saints had lost in my absence at the weekend and so TLF was looking forward to an early depart from work to catch the bus and witness a bit of on the road push for the play offs (which for the rest of the season will be known as the PFTPOs).

And then it all went it bit pear shaped.
“Anyone wishing to catch the bus to Hungerford take one step forward.”

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TLF!?”

The world of work, which admittedly keeps TLF in football, Stella and bacon fries, intervened with some very badly timed fu*ckwittery on behalf of various individuals who will remain nameless. Game over before it had even begun for TLF. There is no bus trip with banter and bonhomie and the news from those who make it isn’t great either; a 3-1 defeat. Happy Monday…..

That also meant that TLF’s time in the FFZ had reached dangerously high levels. Sixteen days without a game. And that wasn’t going to be resolved with any immediacy as the following weekend was Mr TLF’s birthday. And even your average TLF accepts that it’s not particularly wise to prioritise football over his birthday. The important thing of course is that any birthday activity that takes precedence over football is one that benefits ALL parties. Which is why Satday’s updates from a hypothermic Julie were enjoyed from the comfort of our own personal hot tub. A first win in three weeks. Lucky hot tub? Don’t mind if I do.

Toil and trouble Fox

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