Wednesday 27th May 2015

Tuesday.

The day after.

Let me begin by asking, that if any of you find my voice, please return it to me, but I think the primal scream at the final whistle is what done it. Or the most rousing rendition of 'On the Ball, City' at the start of the game. Whatever, my voice for the day was best described as 'raspy' or 'sexy', depending on your point of view I guess. It was in the papers, on the news and all over the interwebs, which means I guess it wasn't a dream, and we have been promoted.

Coming home, I could have spent hours trawling through Twitter at all the wonderful things, images and what will become memories of the day. I could even watch the highlights of the game on the iplayer, after re-setting the BBC website to be the east of England. Yes, it was all there, all things I remember; the screaming, the jumping, the goals, the celebrations.

The local, well local to Norfolk, newspaper said it was the biggest day in the club's history: now, I have not lived through all of Norwich's 113 year history, but I am pretty sure there have been days to at least equal it: Beating Liverpool in 1909 in the FA Cup, getting promoted to the 2nd division in 1934, reaching the FA Cup semi-final in 1959, reaching the First Division in 1972, qualifying for Europe, beating Bayern Munich in Europe at their place.

I have even seen Norwich promoted three previous times: At Hillsborough in 1982, where despite losing, we went up anyway. There were 15,000 City fans there that day. In 1986, we went up at Odsal Stadium in Bradford, in front of about 800 fans as our nearest rival lost. That was quite a day. And finally, at a reserve game in 2004 when another near rival lost in a league game. But now this. So, in my mind, I hear you ask, what was the biggest day?

Well, I might say beating Ipswich in the Milk Cup semi-final, to get to Wembley. And why the semi-final rather than the final? Well, after a wonderful evening, and scoring with just 3 minutes from time, anything esle was going to be an anti-climax. The final, against Sunderland was a dreadful game, really poor, and we scored the only goal via a deflection. The game in Munich where we won 2-1, was close, and until Chelsea beat them in the CL final a couple of years back, that was still the only English team to win there.

So, three FA Cup semi-finals; all lost. Four League Cup Finals; two won, two lost. One European campaign of six games. And promotions to the top division in 1972, 1975, 1982, 1986, 2004, 2011 and now 2015. What day was best? Well, I suppose as on Monday, Norwich were in control from start to finish, and once went 2 up, changed tactics to contain, and we really did not worry about the outcome, maybe it was the biggest day. To get promoted at Wembley, to do it in front of 40,000 fans, get presented with a trophy: maybe it was. The near past always wins anyway.

It was all a bit of a comedown on Tuesday morning. I had a croak for a voice, Jools made coffee and then left for work. I logged on my work computer expecting there to be an early meeting. I was the only one in. So, I caught up on my mails, updated paperwork, the usual stuff that I do. The day went on.

I found time to make some pasta salad for dinner, made calls, and dote on the cats whenever they opened their little mouths. Bless. Because, that is why I am at home, clearly.



At four a couple of friends came round, so I could show them the beech wood over near Barham. It is a short drive, but we had a good couple of hours there, snapping away at the all the lovely orchids. We found 12 spikes of the Lesser Butterfly, as well as rediscovering the pure white Lady for them, and maybe even a Fly x Bee hybrid, which was very nice indeed. Although did fail to find the Sword Leaved Hellebroine again, maybe it was never there and all in my head?

When I returned home, Jools was here, and we worked together to egg and breadcrumb the aubergine, I shallow fried it, and so dinner was ready in half an hour. A nice bottle of red helped it down too.