January Blues that is. As someone whose teams both have a bit of blueness going on that’s not a headline I would usually employ.

Not that it is January’s fault though is it? I’ve always felt a bit sorry for it really. “The bleakest month”, “I hate January.” Well it’s not really January’s fault that it follows a period of torpor and excess indulgence where the body and mind have happily adapted to the new regime of chocolate Xmas decorations being a fine accompaniment to breakfasts that wine o’clock generally commencing around about 2pm after you have read at least two newspapers cover to cover and caught up with last night’s Eastenders Xmas misery on Iplayer.

Nor is January holding a gun to our heads and making us go ‘dry’. It probably won’t come as breaking news (or for the Fleetwood Mac fans amongst you, second hand news) to regular readers to hear that TLF does do not do ‘dry’. I do show some vague maturity and cut down a bit as the match stats below will testify but that is as far as it goes.

It is not the month I can’t stand. It is the going back to work bit. I do genuinely enjoy my work and I have great colleagues but I enjoy being idle and eating too much just that little bit more. All this meant that as the return to work date of 5 January loomed ever closer, like the inevitable relegation for those bottom of the Prem at Christmas (or maybe not this year she hoped desperately), my mood darkened. Fortunately the fixture list had a readymade distraction. Back to back home games for the mighty Lesta and the mighty Saints. Frankly the chances of getting that sort of thing past Mr TLF were previously in the zero to not very much at all range. But I now have in my little TLF back pocket, the BDC. Yes the credit gained when the aforementioned Mr TLF bails out of attendance at the Boxing Day home game. Sorry did I say ‘credit’? Obviously I meant creditS.

Day one of my football extravaganza saw me off to Lesta for some FA Cup action, and courtesy of my friend David, short term membership of the PrawnSandwich brigade as I gladly accepted a space in his corporate box at Filbert Way. In actual fact the sarnies were chicken and his mate Jay had bought them from M&S. I will be honest, I hate, in many ways, what money has done to football but it is hard to have any qualms about the corporate malarkey when someone is taking drinks orders and delivering your pint of Stella to you on a tray……And more importantly Lesta were winning. Admittedly against a very, very poor Newcastle side, who after they had their opening goal harshly ruled offside treated the crowd to a master class in the art of passing the ball to anyone but a teammate. It wasn’t pretty and fair play to the three very lovely Geordies who were also David’s guests for their gallows humour and being outstanding company amongst adversity and smug Lesta fans. Not that Lesta were outstanding, it was just that our equally altered team seemed to have a bit more about it, with a couple of players taking the chance to try and prove they should be starting a few more games. You knew it was all over when the away fans distracted themselves with some very rude chants about the charming owner of their club.

Sunday was a strictly non-corporate trip to Clarence Park. Proper football indeed but sadly without the beer on tap or a nice cosy and toasty private room to stand in until the last minute before kick off and at half time. Hopes were not high as our opponents have a promotion chasing glint in their eye. That combined with some serious winter gloom and plummeting temperatures didn’t augur well for one last hooray before it was back to skool. But how wrong I was. An outstanding performance from the team with a classy free kick from Lee Chappell (my Lord), a jaw droppingly great contribution from a very young looking 17 year old Danny Green, a scrambled winning Omar Beckles goal (which I suspect we scored because the defence was as stunned as us at how bad the preceding corner was) and two sendings off – one for an X-rated tackle took my mind off impending Black Monday.

Although it couldn’t quite distract me from the fact that I couldn’t feel my feet. Less a prawn sandwich and more a frozen prawn.

Back at work and loving it Fox (honest!)

Match Stats
Match One
Lesta 1 Newcastle Utd 0
Attendance : 23,212
Lager consumed: 2 pints Stella
Snacks consumed: own body weight in Walkers Sensations and a chicken wrap
No raffle tickets available – are they mad!?

Match Two
St Albans 2 Gosport Borough 1
Attendance: 332
Lager consumed: None. Skool night/afternoon. I am a grown up
Snacks consumed: None. I am also on a diet
Raffle tickets purchased: 10 consistent losers

Boxing Day and the “peace on earth goodwill to all Mr TLFs” glass was looking distinctly half-empty and more than a bit at risk of being in the recycling by new year. After excelling on the Xmas present front Mr TLF was skating on very thin, festive ice. The clues were there; questions along the lines of, “will it be cold?” and a general lack of movement from the creature beneath the duvet (apart from when a paw shot out to take possession of a cup of tea) all pointed in only one direction; his non-attendance at the 1pm local derby against ‘The Hemel’. A plan in minor tatters and still no proof for Paul that Mr TLF is not just my imaginary friend.

Deploying a suitably excessive Christmas sulk did seem an appropriate response to his lack of enthusiasm and attendance but I chose to eschew it, realising with a moment of rare clarity that a little bit of ‘not minding’ and ‘But no it’s fine I will get you a paper before I go”, would actually bring greater reward. Clearly rare clarity was in the air that day as Mr TLF’s farewell included the words, “I’m going to pay for this.”
Great insight indeed matey.
You will be paying in spades.
For a long time….

In the short term however I did not linger on dark thoughts of exactly what form ‘payback’ might take. Instead good TLF humour was restored through the always reliable combination of alcohol, pre-match banter in the bar to a ska soundtrack and the exchange of some of the perhaps less well known traditional festive pleasantries with our local Hertfordshire neighbours including the questioning of their literacy levels, the appropriateness of their family unit arrangements, the state of employment in Hemel and in a show of real charitable, Geldof-inspired neighbourly concern an acknowledgment of the need to “Feed the Hemel.” Or at least I think it was neighbourly concern….

Later we were reduced to plain old not very christian swearing as the perfect extra Christmas present of 3 points at the expense of local rivals was snatched from under our noses with Hemel’s late second half equaliser. Cue a stomp home, greater misery as Lesta’s failure against Spurs unfolded and some early demands on the truanting Mr TLF. Although let me assure you (and him!) perfect turkey sandwich provision is merely the start of what is a long road back to redemption.

Match Stats
St Albans City 1 Hemel Hemsptead 1
Attendance 1132 (would have been 1133 if a certain person had turned up)
Lager consumed 2 bottles of the quite nice German stuff that I can’t remember the name of
Snacks consumed One packet bacon fries helping to top up dangerously low levels of seasonal saturated fat
Losing raffle tickets a tinsely 10

Not-in-the-mood-for-forgiveness Fox

If only the match day stewards at Bromley FC were more au fait with Macbeth, they would have realised early on that tussling with anything arboreal and mobile will not do you any favours. Their pursuit of an Xmas tree with two legs around the terraces did indeed come to nought although unlike Macbeth and perhaps thankfully, the corpse count remained at zero. Instead they kept us briefly entertained with their Benny Hillesque chase sequence until they realised that there was no danger of a one tree pitch invasion nor was the tree about to give anyone the needle (BOOM!) and they relented. The tree could stay; whacking up the mighty Saints’ reading on the festive-ometer and making those team colours Santa hats you see in the crowds on televised games look, well frankly, autumnally amateurish.

And so the tree, purchased on Bromley market by our erstwhile hardcore support and allowed in by some clearly unsuspecting turnstile operator proved to be the main entertainment. It danced for about 20 mins which I have to say is a testament to the stamina and strength of its human chaperone. If they ever bring back the 70s epic, ‘Superstars’ then dancing with a very big Nordmann Fir (if my eyes didn’t deceive me) will surely be one of the taxing rounds that our sportsmen face. After that it sat, undefeated behind the goal, keeping in time to the various festive and less festive and more abusive chants which rang out.

On the pitch? Oh yes…there was a game. I think we were distracted but in general, on a pitch with a few beach like qualities (I’m talking sand rather than donkeys although the latter would have conveniently continued the festive theme), the mighty Saints were doing ok against the team second in the league.

Sadly in the second half with their only on target shot, Bromley made summat out of nowt (as we say back in Lesta) and were ahead. Despite some last gasp efforts there as to be no equaliser for the mighty Saints.

The tree had to take a breather amidst all the excitement; taking advantage of the seated area we were now occupying. Clearly it was’t quite used to 90 minutes of shenanigans and indeed hadn’t been able to refuel at half time; the draft babybio not being available that day.

So sadly the tree couldn’t bring us festive fortune and I faced up to yet another nul points weekend. But with trees on the terraces, an invitation to a London pub from the boys, which with due deference I had to turn down due to promising to by home by 7pm and a fantastic chat about footballers of yesteryear on the train I couldn’t help but think………HOHOHO.

Match Stats
Bromley 1 St Albans 0
Attendance: 1006 + 1 tree
Snacks consumed: 1 packet frazzles (needs must)
Lager consumed: 1 pint Stella on the train (doesn’t matter how middle class you look with your Guardian, everyone fears a train lager drinker), 1 pint oranjeboom.
Away goalden goal tickets purchased: 2 and I think one of them was a winner but was too distracted to do anything about it.
Yuletide Fox

Aquae Sulis were in town and in the interests of chalking up some brownie points before Xmas work festivities dominate the diary I had booked a post-match dinner a deux for me and Mr TLF. And with his words of good luck ringing in my ears (or was it, “don’t p*ssed”?) I was off.

On the walk up I reflected that it had been a funny old week on the football front, with Lesta doing all they could to remain rooted to the foot of the Prem. The focus though was less on that perilous position and more on the language skills of our manager Nigel Pearson whose response to some less than constructive criticism from a fan was to tell them (allegedly), to “Pedicabo off et mori.”

Well if he spoke Latin that’s how it would have sounded…and then just maybe he would have got away with it. Assuming the fan that this was aimed at wasn’t a Latin scholar of course. Which seems about as likely as Lesta being off the bottom of the league by Christmas. Nigel is refusing to apologise on the ground that the fan was, unjustifiably, questioning the effort of the players. “Fecerut me fac”, said Nigel.

Anyway let us leave naughty Nige and his impending FA charge and return to my day at the theatre of light entertainment that is Clarence Park. To ensure that I was not swaying and singing for my dinner with Mr TLF, and knowing that I can be easily be led I had a cunning plan (so cunning that a Professor of Cunning at the University of Cunning would….Oh you get the gist), I would arrive a bit later than usual, get one pint in. Then for safety reasons eschew the bar at half time. Have a modest half post game, before arriving at dinner like the sober and modest lost fox that I can be, if I try very hard.

It all started well, met up with Hat Boy and his friend Mark, dealt with some flack about the Void, sidestepped a debate about whether we were playing Bath, Baaaath or Barth and got myself a Stella. Being a friendly type and there being a queue I also did the decent thing and got in the beers for the chaps who were a fair distance from the bar with kick off looming. Then outside for a very early Saints goal (GET IN!) and 45 minutes of hypothermia.

Back to the clubhouse at half time, to defrost not to have a drink BUT there on the table….another Stella with TLF’s name on it. That being the gentlemanly response for my pre-match queue busting purchase apparently. Now being well brought up I knew that etiquette dictated it had to be consumed. No problem, I am flexible and two pints is fine. Just no more. At which point Lee, esteemed editor of the programme of this parish went to the bar. No thanks I said, I am meeting Mr TLF later, I need to be good. The response was rapier like, “Don’t mug me off darling. You’re in a round.” What can I say except “Fecerut me fac.”

The second half saw St Albans down to ten men, the temperature drop, the terraces take on an ice rink quality and the linesman go down with an injury….Thirteen long and cold minutes passed by before a replacement was found and ‘warmed up’ (I use the term loosely). St Albans hung on and so did we…just. And then I’m afraid medicinal purposes and peer pressure meant it was time for a cheeky brandy before I lurched off to dinner. And what a nice dinner it was too. I was doing my best sober impression and the food was cracking. Until. He let it slip.

He had been unfaithful. He had been tempted. Jennings the bookmakers had a special offer on a “claret and blue Sunday double.” West Ham to beat Swansea and Villa to beat Lesta. What a negand es alega spurius! In the face of my StellaandBrandyandWine fuelled outrage his only response? Yup “It was Jennings’s fault, with an offer like that. Fecerut me fac.”

Match Stats
Villa Sancti Albani 1 Aquae Sulis 0
Auscultant: 448
Cervisia consumpti: 3 Stellas
Friction lardum consumpti: 1 packet

Lostius Foxius

There is always a price to pay for a girls weekend away and I’m not talking here about the health implications of the cake, salty snack and Prosecco diet.

Nope, it’s the payback to the abandoned Mr TLF, who as he put it, “had been left at home, ALONE because you went AWAY, AGAIN.” I would like to point out that the majority of previous AAAs have been down to work commitments (apart from the theatre and football related ones of course). But fair play, I do appreciate that relationships are about give and take and so to assuage any guilt/smooth path for future AAAs I promised that the following weekend would be date weekend, which roughly translates as ‘TLF won’t go to football.’ I did this without benefit of the visual aid that is more commonly known as a diary and so too late found I had given up one of those Satdays where Saints and Foxes were at home…..I only had myself to blame and so I chose the advice that I like to pass onto my staff, “suck it up.”

But the footballing gods, perhaps recognising that recent results had not gone my way gave me a break. As it turned out that Mr TLF’s mates had messed up their diary and their pending visit was a week earlier than planned and they would be present for date weekend…..I did my very best, obviously, to greet this ‘disappointing news’ with suitable solemnity and I like to think I waited a respectful number of minutes before saying, “So I could fit in a match then?” And this little episode dear reader, is what is known in common parlance as a “happy accident.”

Being equally respectful to our visitors I did only negotiate a 3 hour pass and following a pub lunch with them at the Old Fighting Cocks (another pub crossed off the list) I was off to Clarence Park. I can’t quite decide if the first half passed me by because I was in shock at the idea that the opposition played in aqua marine or whether it was down to the in depth discussion about mobility scooters, cross dressing and dogging (three separate discussions I hasten to add) but I do remember we missed a couple of sitters and their goalie got VERY grumpy.

Things looked up in the second half, if not because of what was going on a la hallowed turf then definitely because of a very in depth analysis of Strictly. I won’t embarrass the gentleman involved, but apart from not getting the ‘Artem thing’, that is one man who knows his chasses from his rise & fall.

It was all looking like a bit of a tedious nil-nil and then as if by magic, John and Davey Mac appear (like two Mr Benn shopkeepers, but sans fez), for some old school ranting and BOSH!, the fantastic Sean Shields scores the winner as the sun goes down on his sojourn at St Albans (see the headline vaguely makes sense now). Happy Fox. Happy Accident.

Match Stats
St Albans 1 Havant and Waterlooville 0
Attendance 349
Random coloured failing raffle tickets 10
Lager consumed 1.5 pints Peroni, 1 pint Stella, 1 bottle German stuff
Snacks The mighty BFs return to winning ways, previous packets must have come from a duff patch.

Terry & Julie Fox

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.
Oh yes.
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.

Match stats
St Albans 2 Whitehawk 3
Attendance 458
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