“You and your rag tag bunch of questers on the p1ss in concrete country.”
That’s what I like about Mr TLF. Always there with the bon mots to wish me well on my journey as I leave early for an away football trip with the Mighty Saints. I’m sure he didn’t mean it, it was just an expression of angst at the thought of how much he was going to miss me.
Anyway we weren’t a ragtag blahblah. We were the Dartford Seven and after some good natured debate about who appeared in the film not quite of the same name we were the Magnificent Dartford Seven. The debate was resolved not by us but by several fellow passengers on the 09.27 from St Albans, who clearly couldn’t bear the level of ignorance any longer and chipped in with the correct answers. Who needs google when you’ve got a Thameslink train carriage?
We were following the non-logical route to Dartford via the slippery slope of innuendo, which certainly set the tone for the conversation during the day. Non-logical to Trainline and to several of our company but logical for an Adrian Magical Mystery Tour. And very impressive it was too. By the time we arrived at our destination, Princes Park, home of Dartford we had breakfasted, taken in three hostelries (a fourth having been discarded as a local informed us it was ‘poncey’) and done our Village People thing outside the Dartford YMCA. And no one had been to Fortnum and Mason. Honest.
Euston
Waterloo
Dartford
Sort of Village People
TS Eliot experienced failed marriages and nervous disorders. Must have been a football fan. We were all suffering from some kind of disorder as we watched the Mighty Saints come from a goal down twice only to lose, conceding the winner in the 88th minute. Their keeper did make some decent saves but even that seemed a bit cruel; he managed to miss his water bottle completely when he went to pick it up at half time. We did not make a big thing of it. Honest. Nor was there any talk of pitch encroachment in the second half; the bolt on that gate was just very loose, that’s all. Honest.
The only thing left to do was head back to London, via a wake for the brother of 1/7th of the MDS. An honour to be asked and possibly a beer too far for TLF.
I think TS (as his friends didn’t call him) would have enjoyed the day out. Probably though a bit less Wasteland and a bit more Wasted.
Rag Tag Fox
In the verb sense, obviously not the adjective