I got dressed and went down for breakfast. Not the best, but plentiful, with fruit and unlimited coffee. I made sausage and bacon butties and ate well.
A quick freshen up, then walk over the road to the station and decide, without checking the TFL map which was the best route to Wembley, so I take the first train to Charing Cross, then catch the Bakerloo to Baker Street.
Every third Bakerloo train goes to Wembley, so I sat to wait, but then checked the map. If I caught the metropolitan, its just two stops to Wembley! So up the stairs to the curving platforms to wait, then on the train which already had a few supporters on.
Sunday was non-league cup final day, the FA Vase and FA Trophy finals, and the podcast I listen to, The Sound of Football, are all AFC Whyteleafe who had made it to the Vase final, and as I was up London already, seemed a simple no choice to buy a ticket and go along.
It was a glorious hot and sunny day, one that's good for fans, but bad for players, and the walk down Wembley Way seemed much longer with the sun reflecting off the concrete. All along on both sides, food, snack and souvenir stalls offered to take your money.
I got a fruit milkshake at a Brazilian (really) place, and found a seat on which to perch and watch the fans go buy, fans of AFC Whyteleafe and Whitstable, all in good spirits, and living the dream of seeing their small clubs play at Wembley.
Kick off was at 12:15, so half an hour before, I walked up to the stadium, climbed the steps, then round to the far side where entrance N was. Although the line was long, it moved quick, and soon we were inside, with the green of the pitch and red seats just visible up the steps to the stands.
No drink for me, I went straight to the seat, six rows from the front, just in time for the teams to come out, with three quarters of the stadium empty. Each club had been given a quarter, and the ticket allowed you to attend both games, the Trophy at half four. Only Aldershot sole enough fans to have the middle and upper levels opened, as well as the lower.
Fans around me greeted their team by shouting: "Leaf, leaf, Leaf".The game kicked off, and very energetic it was at first, and Whyteleafe scored early on.
Huge cheers.But the big pitch and hot weather slowed the game down, and the game lost its urgency.
Into the second half, and Whitstable level, and then it was a case of who had enough to win. By an hour gone, it was pretty much walking pace, with lots of breaks for injuries and cramp.
Whyteleafe rattled the bar in the final minutes, but that was it. So, extra time.Another 30 minutes was too much, really, for amateur players at the end of a long season, and kicking off and playing in the hottest part of the day.
The Whitstable forward got round the back of the Whyteleafe defence, the keeper parried one shot, but the forward turned and volleyed the ball into the roof of the net.
A goal good enough to win any cup final.And that was that.
The came the climb up the terrace, and from the far side of the stadium, round and onto Wembley Way, passing hoards of Aldershot and Spennymoor fans going to the stadium.
At least only a few thousand leaving, I got on the first train to arrive, which took me past Baker Street to St Pancras, and once in the station, I had just seven minutes to get to the Southeastern platforms for a direct train to Dover.
I made it, but all hot and sweaty. I called Jools so she would pick me up at Martin Mill. If only I'd have had a chance to buy a drink or three, I was very parched. But in just over an hour I'd be home.
I dozed the journey through, really, trying to block the sounds of the screaming children at the far end of the carriage. They got off at Folkestone, and calm returned.
Jools was indeed waiting, so took me home, getting back at half five. Straight in for a pint of squash and fizzy water, and then a cuppa.
Jools went out for a takeaway, to save cooking. So, we ate well at half six, listening to Desert Island Discs, eating Chinese and drinking cider/lager.
And still no work on the morrow.
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