Saturday 24th March 2018

Some 33 years ago, I was at Wembley to see Norwich lift heir first ever major trophy. It should be a day that is forever etched in my memory, as nearly 50,000 City fans cheered the team on to a fine 1-0 win over Sundaerland. Every moment of that day, from getting up, going to board the coach and the long journey to London should be in my head, every detail crystal clear.

What I do remember, is arriving at Wembley, driving to the stadium and seeing every pub overflowing with Sunderland fans, all drinking. Next I remember walking up the steps to the upper standing paddock I had been allocated, the other side of the ground from my Dad, and seeing the sweep of the stadium, already filling up with flag waving fans. I could see the Olympic gallery above, and a TV showing liver coverage of the game, so I could see when the teams came out. We cheered.

A dull first half, maybe one of the worse in Wembley history, but the second began with a deflected goal for Norwich, down at the opposite end of the ground, about a million miles away. No idea then how the ball ended up in the net, but it did. A few minutes later, Sunderland got a penalty, down at our end. A penalty had never been missed in a Wembley final, could this be the first? Yes, it was; Gordon Chisholm failed to score, and we held on.

We reached the coach and were stunned. The coach was in silence. We had won, and would be in Europe next season. In the coaches around us, Sunderland fans were having a right old party, chanting "we lost the cup!" over and over again. It took longer to get out of the coach park that the game lasted, as is the case to this day at the "new" Wembley. But that is my memories of that day, and now a third of a century ago.

This blog helps me remember things that happened so much more recently. And I am glad to have started it, just wish I had done it years before to track my change form military life into civilian. Annie Nightingale wrote a book called Chase the Fade, a great book, but the title referred to not letting a record fade to silence, but she wanted to chase the fade, to write stuff down before it was forgotten.

Saturday, and the start of a four day weekend. And a football free day, and spring. Nearly.

You know the score; up at six, feed the cats, have coffee, go to Tesco at eight, shop until we drop, back home, put shopping away, have coffee and croissants, and finally get ready for the fun stuff.

Fun stuff which this particular day would, as has been the case all through this year, involve churches and churchyards. A couple of weeks back I had tried to see inside Ss. Peter and Paul in River, but was locked fast, which was unusual for a Saturday morning. So I sent mails, and during the week got a reply from the rockabilly loving vicar, inviting me to the church, with cameras, at ten.

So we arrived on the dot of ten to find the church open, and the vicar and wardens busy preparing the nave for whatever they were going to do on Sunday; it involved coffee apparently. Anyway, I was allowed to get on with my stuff, but the vicar pointing out that the black footballer and army officer, William Tull who had been in the news the previous day, as attempts were to get him awarded a medal he did not get a 100 years ago because of the colour of his skin, as he is on both the roll of honour and the war memorial of the church.

THe church sits at the end of Lewisham Road, near to where the trams used to terminate, and has been subjected to several rounds of "improvements". Somewhere under it there is an ancient church, but the signs are rare. The west doorway, now usually inaccessible as it lies beyond the door to the modern church centre was pretty much all I saw. Well, that and the Norman font, looking very out of place in the heavily Victorianised interior, which has been further brought up to date by the current parishioners.

In general, the church works, with its modern seating it can be used for many different types of events, concerts as well as services, and is clearly a lively and friendly place.

Many thanks to the vicar for allowing me to come along yesterday to take shots and add another church to the growing list of ones visited.

It is a modernised church, that suits it's location and parish.

We take our leave, and I tank all those present for allowing me in to take snaps.

I wanted to try Great Mongeham again, and from Dover it was a quick blast up the Sandwich road, then finding our way through the maze of side roads that criss-cross east Kent, along six foot sixers, roads that cut through the chalk leaving white banks at the edges, until we saw the tower of St Martin in the heart of the village. We had come two weeks back and found it locked, and the keyholder not answering their door. It was the same this week as both the church was locked and no one answered the door, but this time a dog barked from the depths of the large house.

So we returned home, driving along more back roads and the one mile straight; a lane one car wide with just two passing places. If there is no one about, you can hammer along it at sixty, but on this day a van was coming in the opposite direction, so I slow down so to time us meeting at the passing place at the same time.

There was little football on, just the two lower leagues and the non-league stuff, on, so we have lunch, listen to Huey, then I decide to bake short cakes in the afternoon, so we have a snack later on to tide us over before supper at nine when we're at Jen's.

I even do another session on the cross trainer, another half hour, although I really don't feel like it, but I get it done, thanks to a soundtrack of more David Bowie and Brendan Benson.

It is still nearly light by half six when we leave the house to dove to Jen's, dropping Jools off so I got o collect John from the bottom of Whitfield Hill, bringing him and his bucket of ice (don't ask) to Jen's and the cards can begin.

We play until quarter to midnight, have supper and make merry, which is the whole point. We come out even, but Jen scoops the last two jackpots to be quids in, even if we're playing for pennies a hand. So much fun.