I was on the M18 before I got any feeling back in my hands, until then it felt like someone else was driving. Nowhere near as enjoyable as advertised, a bit like the game. But less of that later.
No Westwood so I headed Eastward, and, although somewhat unlikely in the cold weather, it was huge. Coalville as far as the eye could squint in the low sun, surely the largest town in the East Mids?
Not To Scale.jpg
And yes, a population of just over half a million, as confirmed on
Wiki. Who knew?
Lol at the ubiquitous barber's on the outskirts, "Turkish Hairlines". Chapeau. Or rather "Fez" I suppose.
Another High Street, nice looking 'Spoons, roadworks and an early bottle-job settling for the on-street, necessitating a bit of a walk. Like a melancholy painter-and-decorator, already regretting undercoating.
A Redditch-esque walk down the drive, cursing as cars passed to park on the Elysian fields of nearness, replaced by Schadenfreude as they were turned back. Huh huh huh. Somewhat of a hybrid, new-ish, yet already tatty-chic, showing some signs of aging. And that was just HH.
Rumourage of a squabble leading to the 90's graffito throwback of "Morris Out" and he wasn't there, as wasn't Evvo. Solid enough though?
Pretty thin on the ground, and that was just me, Wall Heath's finest was bemoaning his CGMs and A1Cs leading to timberage and a terrifying upcoming detox while the rest of South Wolvo are just concentrating on the tox. But at least it took our mind off the cold, and the game. Which started as well as my car. 1-0 down. Harrumph.
But, the bi-barnetted lino had other ideas, and it was expunged. Another burst of Shaden-f and we reset. Resetted? Resat? Anyhoo.
Looking good to me, well, maybe not good, but less lompy than I'd been expecting, some Miracle bound thwackage, but a lot more tippy-tap in the last third. Gummy though - toothless and no bite.
I'm either too old or too stupid, perhaps both, to understand one up top. Squigglers like Mini and Elliot trying to buzz it up I guess, but Caine was less than able and we lacked penetration. Insert your own knob joke here.
Like the many high streets of West Leics, I'd start with Greggs, but what do I know. We huffed and puffed, had the better of it imo, but neither custodian had anything to do, their bloke left contemplating as to why he'd put his head on upside down.
Three wheels on the Waggon and no Jack. Maybe.
Half-time and a wander about, impressive extension of the tunnel in this weather (
enough now - Ed) and Brother Avery's ear to bend.
Boom, off they went. A 20 minute spell of better-than-us with their gaffer's teacup chucking no doubt leading to a goal, a couple of crossbar wobblers and an upping of the moanage amongst the lifers. Oh well, it's a day out I suppose. Hardly Malaga though is it?
But, like my Harry-Rudge-inspired JPness, don't forget the bench. My heart sang as the young Phineas-or-Ferb-a-like stripped off, initially looking like a latter day Keith Weller, before rolling his socks down as we collectively pulled ours up. Sim and the Sausage-roll-merchant on too. One up to three up? But still one down.
Like Christmas, it was coming. Their keeper even had to move, some bobblage and a taxi-hail kept us out though. Into the last knockings. Sim hogged one when Miracle could have knocked it in with his, erm, ok, I said no more.
Then frabjous day! Something went off down the far side and it was bundled across, near-post stramash and their lot were on the deck. Ho Ho Ho.
Nobody knew then, or it seems now, as to who it went in via. Looked like N. Hayward who gave us a near-Fantastic Day, but what do I know. It's not a quiz.
The usual volte-face as they rushed the barricades but we got it away (Barnestonewoth) and that's yer lot.
I said that I'd take a point as I walked in, and that's what we got. If only all of life was so predictable. But warmer.
A couple of nods, the oft-derided dicky-Hicky looked good to me and I might just be in love with Todd Parker - one pointless 30 yard sprint to vaguely harass their fullback after 70-odd mins caused cardiac flutterage. But not Andy's, fortunately. All of this plus Ash Carter's tonsorial Scott Parker impression and all for a sov over a tenner. What a time to be alive.
A defrosting pootle back to the leafy lanes of HG99 and the second half of Tom Baker's autobiog on the car
YooTubes to warm the cockles, a man whose life is almost as much of a rollercoaster as that of Leroy Hemans. But that's another story....