Saturday 1st December 2018

Start of winter

I wake up at quarter to six in the attic room of the hotel. Outside I could hear birds roosting in nearby trees and the sound of bogies on rails as trains left the nearby station for London and the coast. I get up and have a shower, put on some clean clothes and am set up for what I hope is going to be a great day.

I laze around until half seven when breakfast would start, and as I walk down the three flights of stairs I could already smell bacon and sausages cooking.

Lovely.

I don't have cooked breakfasts very often, but with a day of walking, football and drinking planned, it would be a great start, an so I have the full monty, except grilled tomatoes, as tomatoes have no place on a breakfast plate!

I had no plan for the morning, but getting ready to go out I find that my Red Sox cap is a snug fit, meaning I needed a haircut, so the search for a barbers just opened so I could get a trim.

And then there was Kate Bush.

Not meeting her, as she lives in north Kent, but her albums were being reissued remastered on vinyl, and I thought I might get Hounds of Love.

I walk through the station, just to check if there was any class 37 action going on; there wasn't, they were sitting silent on the sidings beside the station. So I walk over the river and up Prince of Wales Road. Again.

I see a couple of likely places, but I knew they only did appointments on Saturday, then see one on St Vedast Street, which got me thinking of the church that must have stood nearby, and what happened to it. I would research that when I got home. I did, and it was demolished in 1541, no trace of it is left, except in the Castle Museum.

So, I sit for half an hour at the two barbers clip and chat away, and I get the old Italian guy to do my barnet. He has an interesting accept of Italian Norfolk mix. I was rather taken. So, I tel him to cut it, cut it short, which he does, but explain my regular guy doesn't do it like that to make sure I go back within a month. Good point, but I don't want to spend one Sunday a month going to Folkestone for a trim!

He charges me twelve quid, which considering the amount of wool he had cut off, was fair enough. And outside, my cap fitted perfectly.

I walk up Prince of Wales Road, then down London Street right into the commercial heart of the city, still placed on the medieval street plan. I walk up to Pottergate, then down onto St Benedict's Street and along to Soundclash, run by people who used to work in the old Backs Record Shop, home of the Higsons and Farmers Boys.

I sidle up and mention, quietly, Kate Bush box set, and he reaches under the counter, bringing out four boxes. Rather than release them individually, the record company had spit her output into four box sets, a hundred quid each.

I baulked.

But the one I wanted had Hounds of Love, The Red Shoes and This Woman's Work.

Hmmmm

I ask how many were made. The guy looks at some portal and says just 250 were listed, at least of box #1, which had her first four albums. So, I sigh and say I will take the first two sets, seven albums and put them on my credit card.

He gives me a free tote bag in which to carry my swag in. Which was nice.

I will drop the records back off at the hotel, so begin the long walk back, now in a steady drizzle. I end up walking through Royal Arcade to visit Coleman's Mustard Shop, only to find it had closed. Times are really bad.

I go on a different route back, down King Street, through Dragon Hall, over the bridge then through Riverside to the station.

It was still raining, and people were already in The Queen of the Iceni getting their pre-match pints in, some three hours before kick off. Half an hour later, after walking back to the hotel, putting the records in the car and walking back, I join them, I get a pint and find a table to sit at and wait for my friends, Ian and Ali, to arrive.

I have a second pint, a vegetable chili and another pint of plumb pudding porter, and everything is fine.

Ian arrives, so we hug and go outside as they ruin their health, but it is cooler, and despite it being the first day of December, it is almost mild enough just to wear t shirts.

At half two we walk to the ground, and after getting my ticket scanned(!) I go to find my seat, at the very front of the Main Stand, so far forward the roof does not reach over our seats. But I have a great view, and in a few minutes the teams come out, flags are waved, and we sing the club song.

Just like old times.

The drizzle fell all through the game, and as the ball was passed you could see a fine spray of water coming off it. City passed the ball well, but go on at half time 1-0 down thanks to a rebound being put in the net. People did not look happy.

But in the 2nd, the team was rejigged, and City improved. Passing was with more intent, shots rained in on the Rotherham goal, and ten minutes in, City pull level.

Then it was all out attack, and the inevitable happened, we take the lead and lift the roof off the old stadium.

There was time to run in a third on a day when we could have scored twice as many, so we go back to the top of the table and we all stand and cheer at the end. My voice is hoarse.

After cheering the team off the pitch, we file out of the ground, and I make my way to the Nelson Hotel, which is the place for post-match drinks, apparently.

We have one beer, two beers, three beers. Maybe more. We go over the road to the Compleat Angler, have more beers and something to eat.

But I am done, I have to drive home in the morning, so I bid my friends farewell, and walk back to the hotel. Just as well my feet know the way.

I try to watch some football, but give up. Sleep would come quickly.