Best Laid Plans

Predictably enough, the whole New Year Efficiency Drive fizzled out as soon as I emerged from my idyllic two-week Christmas bubble and was forced to actually Get Out Of Bed And Go Back To Work.  The return of the 6AM mobile phone alarm clock, and of grey post-dawn hours spent shivering at cross-town bus stops trying to remember what exactly I'm supposed to be doing at the office once I actually get there, has come as something of a shock to the system.  By the time I get home at sometime past 6PM, far from feeling ready to Wage War On Sloth, it is all I can do to add the day's discarded workclothes to the accumulating pile gradually annexing the bedroom floor before stumbling downstairs, collapsing onto the couch, and clutching the first of several restorative cups of tea.

Meanwhile the list of Things In Our House That Don't Really Work (So Let's Stop Pretending That They Do), far from shrinking in the face of  zealous attention, is actually getting longer.  The latest addition is my electric razor, which was always slightly temperamental and now seems to have given up the ghost entirely- possibly as a result of me throwing it at quite hard onto the bathroom floor in a fit of pique at 6:20 on Tuesday morning.  I still haven't managed to get to Boots to buy a new one either, so face the prospect of shambling into work tomorrow morning, in all probability in an unironed shirt, looking like David Bellamy after a particularly gruelling night on the tiles.  Not exactly the image we were looking for in Uber-Efficient January.

Needless to say the spangly new digital TV box remains up the spout as well, so yesterday teatime found me leaning on the bar of the Fiddlers Green taking in Manchester United v Newcastle.  On the way there I had given myself the bi-annual stern talking-to in preparation for this fixture.  'Remember now- you're in enemy territory here so no jumping up if they score, and definitely no rousing renditions of the Blaydon Races at half-time.  Just keep your head down, limit yourself to a couple of 'Haway now, Lads' under your breath, and you might have a chance of getting out of there in one piece.  And for God's sake stay off the strong stuff'.

Of course this plan (rather like the January Efficiency Drive, come to think of it) falls to pieces almost as soon as it is conceived.  Shortly after kick-off a disputed offside call causes a startled yell of 'Ah Haway Referee Man!' to escape my lips, and by midway through the second half the combined effects of two pints of Fosters and the cartoonesque flounderings of the Newcastle defence have caused all decorum, not to mention sense of self-preservation, to be thrown out of the window.  As the giant plasma screen replays the particularly embarrassing black-and-white mix-up that leads to Manchester United's third, I am scandalizing the nearby clientele with an expletive-laden rant lasting upwards of two minutes.  I can't remember the exact words but 'Hadaway to Bollocks Cacapa man, you're a liability.  A fucking liability!' are definitely among them.

This unseemly diatribe seems to get something out of my system, however, and I manage to meet United's fourth, fifth and- yes- sixth goals with what I fondly imagine to be Zen-like stoicism but is more likely straightforward punchdrunkness in the face of such a devastating onslaught.  Whatever, while home supporters, drunk on four teatime pints of Guinness and a Ronaldo hat-trick, cavort in front of me like so many sponsored replica shirt-clad salmons, I cut a stockstill figure, leaning backwards against the dead centre of the bar, gazing into the middle distance, and waiting for the final whistle to bring an end to the agony.

After what feels like half-an-hour of injury time the ordeal is over.  Unlike the only other non-United fan in the room (a loudmouthed Arsenal follower who had marched in apparent disgust out onto Stockport Road as soon as the second goal went in) I have at least managed to stay to the bitter end.  Mindful of the ambassadorial responsibilities incumbent upon the exiled football fan when following his team in hostile territory, I grit my teeth and, before departing, make a great point of shaking hands with the gaggle of United-supporting barroom acquaintances who have been my garrulous companions for the afternoon. 'Best of luck, Son', one of them shouts after me.  'Aye', I think as I step out onto the pitchblack A6,' We'll be fucking needing it an' all'.       

Comments

[beth]

I thought of you.

By the time I got downstairs to say it was four-nil they'd scored another two. And it's only two flights.

On the other hand, and just as cruelly, I'm glad your efficiency drive has crumbled. It was making me feel inadequate.

[Iain]

//Unlike the only other non-United fan in the room...I have at least managed to stay to the bitter end.//

Taking your ambassadorial duties very seriously. I'm very impressed.

[Ben]

An absolute crock of shite, wasn't it? Feel sorry for you having to watch it with the enemy - it was bad enough in Birmingham with loads of guffawing and drunk Villa fans around...

[Ben]

Oh what a difference a day makes. You just try wiping this grin off my face! (Don't take that as a challenge, Stoke...)

[Abby]

Eeeeee, how about the return of the messiah? I am looking forward to a fevered crinklybee entry on the subject imminently!

[Jonathan]

Fevered is about right... in common with most of the Geordie diaspora I have been too busy floating two feet above the ground since the news broke to busy myself with the keyboard... The Keegan era (mark 3) starts in six minutes time with a home game against Bolton Wanderers. I think it's a safe bet it's not going to finish 0-0...

[EEOurjohn]

There is no such thing as a safe bet. You've more chance of getting served in the dining room of The Fish Hut on Liverpool rd.

[Jonathan]

Yes, well Eeourjohn, I think we can begin to see why we tend to limit our football scoreline predictions to the comparative obscurity of the comment box(and as a longstanding reader you will remember the farrago of the Crinklybee 2006 World Cup Prediction Service, which we cannot discuss in detail here given that it is still the subject of several lawsuits). Having said that let me be the first to predict that neither of our upcoming visits to Arsenal will end 0-0. I will say no more than that...