War-tford and Peace at Last

 

 

 

War-tford and Peace at Last

Any trip to Wembley is bound to be an epic, and so it was for Man-in-a-Hat, so brace yourselves for a six thousand, six hundred and sixty six word War and Peace Hatter’s style.

 

It was a plan to end all plans. I ended up arranging tickets for a party of eleven (surely a good omen); two seniors, two disabled, two companions and five normals.

 

Of these eleven, two were coming over from Dublin, one lived in London, one lived in Birmingham (not Uncle Sam!), three lived in Manchester, with the remaining four actually hailing from Stockport.

 

One was staying in Wimbledon, six were staying in Watford and four were to return home to sleep in their own beds. Those staying in Watford were at three different hotels.

 

So, the Man-in-a-Hat starting eleven were: Stafford; Sinead & Ruth (friends of Stafford); #39; Mary & Fintan from Dublin; Fran & Gareth from Didsbury; Lesley (my Cousin from London); Dan (my Nephew from Birmingham) and yours truly.

 

Man-in-a-Hat was staying in Watford for three nights, Monday night having been added, as one of the party, a Wednesday Supporter, was hopeful of acquiring tickets for the League One Play Off Final.

 

In the event of not managing to get tickets for the Monday game, Plan B was a day in Leighton Buzzard, a real ale hotbed, just seventeen minutes up the tracks from Watford. 

 

I was to meet #39 on the 11:24 train Saturday morning from Stockport. Unbelievably we’d booked completely independently and ended up on the same train. We were to meet Fran & Gareth in Watford that evening.

 

On Sunday we’d meet Mary & Fintan in Watford (who were flying into Luton), then Stafford at Wembley Central Train Station and then Dan and Lesley at The Stadium.

 

After the game, Stafford was planning to come back to Watford for a post-match meal with those of us staying in Watford, as was Dan. Lesley would be off home.

I was to arrange a table for ten somewhere.

 

Monday was still unclear, although #39 was going home that morning, and Mary & Fintan’s flight back to Dublin wasn’t until 8pm. Not to mention that Stafford would still be kicking around somewhere in London.

 

I was booked on the train back to Stockport Tuesday morning, by which time I’d be the only one left.

 

What could possibly go wrong?

 

Foodie Friday Fiasco

 

Things actually started to unravel Friday evening, which must be a record even for me. Unwisely, I’d agreed to help promote the Stockport Beer & Cider Festival at Foodie Friday.

 

Incidentally, please note that this year the Festival is being held at The Masonic Guildhall opposite Stockport College between Thursday 22^nd and Saturday 24^th June. CAMRA Members are welcome to attend the preview session from 3.30pm on the Thursday. Full details here:- https://www.stockportfestival.org.uk/ Further volunteers desperately required.

 

So, after indulging in onion bhajies (OB), a lamb samosa (S) and (A) various scotch eggs (SES), i.e. OBSASES, I find myself sat in The Angel at 5.30pm drinking Beartown Crème Bearlee pending commencing my duties in the Market Hall at 6pm.

 

Unfortunately, from 6pm, all of the pubs in the Market Place switch to plastic glasses when Foodie Friday is on, which affords us the opportunity to ferry real ale from The Angel to our stand, including the excellent American Pale Ale from Listers.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m supposed to be taking it easy tonight! Need to be on a bus at 10am tomorrow morning.

 

Anyway, we’re going to finish off about 8.30pm, so I’ll be on the 9pm bus home. All is well.

 

What’s this, Alan at The Petersgate Tap is treating anyone volunteering for CAMRA this evening to a free pint. Well, it would be rude not to. I’ll just have to get the 10pm bus. All is well.

 

Of course all is not well, as the beer in The Petersgate Tap is rather excellent, so I end up staying for a few, inevitably indulging in pre-trip banter with various County Supporters.

 

I’ve decided to wear the Posh Topper to the game, which has really put the willies up those who are keen hat-watchers, as they know full well the Posh Topper hasn’t won a single game all season, and was actually benched for the remainder of the season back in November.

 

As you all know, the Peaky Blinder Hat took over in January, and has an astonishing record of won eleven, drawn seven and lost just one (away at Barrow).

 

However, playing at Wembley is a special occasion, so it has to be the Posh Topper, which I’m sure has recharged it’s luckiness over the past six months.

 

The other vibe I’m getting is that of ticket-envy.

 

Due to the complex combination of the eleven tickets I needed, not least requiring seats that had step-free access, I ended up going to Edgeley Park to sort them out.

 

This resulted in me having to have physical tickets. The Ticket Office were very apologetic about not being able to give me e-tickets, but as you can imagine everyone in my party was delighted to get a proper ticket as a souvenir.  

 

 

 

When I show these tickets to those who only have e-tickets, I can already tell that we may be able to sell these when I get back!

 

Rather inevitably, I end up trying the 14% ABV Imperial Custard Stout (don’t ask) before managing to catch the last bus home.

 

Transporting the Posh Topper

 

Despite my exertions the night before, I’m safely on the 10am bus into Stockport wearing my 1883 polo-shirt. Not just the polo-shirt you understand, the last thing I wanted was not to be allowed to get on due to indecent exposure.

 

The Posh Topper is a bulky hat, so I’m having to carry two bags. Two bags means no hands, which is a right pain, so I’m already doubting the wisdom of bringing the Posh Topper.

 

The Peaky Blinder would have folded away nicely into my bag, not to mention guarantee promotion to League One.

 

Unexpectedly, I find myself not that bothered about the result tomorrow. It’s been a great season, and I have unfinished business in League Two, for example a weekend in Morecombe, Wimbledon, and now a week in Nottingham, not to mention ensuring we help get MK relegated into non-League from whence they will hopefully never return.

 

The plan is to pick up sausage rolls, pork pies and scotch eggs from the Makers Market in the Market Place for the journey, but none of these things are available, so I end up popping into the Polish shop, where I manage to procure some things that look interesting for #39 and I to try.

 

In Bask having coffee and a bacon sarnie, I spot sausage rolls on the menu, so two are acquired.

 

I like to support Bask if I can as not only have they hosted various County events, but they’ve also supported Walthew House as well. I’ve always tried to support businesses that support the things I support. Does that even make sense?

 

I try to dump last night’s OBSASES but it’s all smoke and no fire, so to speak, so I’ll just have to take it on the train with me.

 

#39 is waiting on the platform. The train is nine minutes late, and we only have twelve minutes to change at Milton Keynes, so it looks like that won’t happen.

 

I do have a contingency plan, namely a Wetherspoons near the station, which is called, err, Wetherspoons.

 

All of the seat reservations have been cancelled, and as #39 hasn’t booked Passenger Assistance, we’re left to fend for ourselves. Let that be a lesson, always book PA, it’s very handy if, sorry, when, things don’t go to plan.

 

The frequency with which seat reservations get cancelled is quite shocking. For most, including me, it is nothing more than a minor inconvenience, but if you need assistance when travelling seat reservations are vital, particularly if travelling alone.

 

Despite the train being very busy, we manage to get two seats together. The sausage rolls from Bask are very good.

 

Plan B

 

Aside from the fact we won’t be getting to MK in time for our connection, other changes to the original plan so far are: Sinead and Ruth not coming; Stafford now meeting us at Watford Junction tomorrow; Gregg from Halifax (an old County Mucker) will meet us in Watford and use one of our spare tickets so he can sit with us; and Fran & Gareth have offered me a lift home on Tuesday, which I have gratefully accepted.

 

I open my Polish Pork Jerky, releasing a wonderful blast of cured pork, strangely not enjoyed by all it would seem.

 

Another attempt to release the OBSASES between Stoke and Rugby results in the same outcome as that in Bask.

 

Time for the Polish Kabnosy Znadzieniem, described as “extreme jalapeno meat sticks”.

 

These are similar to the pepperonis you see in some pubs, but thinner (about the width of a pencil). The chilli runs through the central core of each stick and is bright green.

 

 

 

 

 

These don’t smell very good, but are very tasty indeed. I reckon the heat rating is about equivalent to the red pepperonis, i.e. not as hot as the deadly black variety. Thankfully the packet is resealable.

 

Using his mobile device, #39 has booked Passenger Assistance at MK to help us get our connecting train to Watford, but as we are now eleven minutes late, I suspect that even PA won’t manage it.

 

There has been no sign of the Train Manager so far, who judging by his voice during the announcements he’s made to date, didn’t want to work today.

 

The resealable option on my packet of Kabnosy Znadzieniem goes unutilised.

 

By the time we get to MK, we’re fourteen minutes late. In any event, the train we we’re booked on has been cancelled!

 

No matter, the next train is at 13:30, and it actually pulls in at 13:16, giving us plenty of time to get some table seats.

 

We’re on a train to London Euston. No sign of The Blue Army, but there are plenty of Coventry Supporters on their way to today’s Championship Play Off Final. I’m not sure how they’re going to get to Wembley by 3pm though.

 

#39 is staying at The Holiday Inn Express next door to Watford Junction, whereas I am in the Premier Inn the other side of town, albeit near Watford High Street Tube Station.

 

We therefore part company at Watford Junction, agreeing to meet in the Mad Squirrel Tap & Bottle Shop (let’s just call it the Mad Squirrel) later that afternoon, and I get the Tube one stop, which will be useful experience, as this will be the route to Wembley tomorrow. Lots of Luton and Coventry Supporters of course.

 

Some of the Luton lot are wearing poxy straw boaters. I’m desperate to show them what a real hat looks like, but I realise that I’m on my own and any boasting would cause the severe risk of having my hat nicked, so I have to play it out in my head instead.

 

Call that a hat? This is a hat! You plastic hatters, you. We’re the real Hatters! And, so on.

 

Mad Squirrels, a Toad and Nana

 

Whilst checking in I book a daily 9am breakfast, and decline the opportunity to have my room serviced each day. My Grandmother used to call this “staling the air”. “This” is what I’ve just done in the rather snug hotel lift. It just sort of slipped out. Good job I was the only one present.

 

After “unpacking” the OBSASES and laying out my pyjamas, I head off for the Mad Squirrel. As I pass reception, I arrange for my room to be serviced.

 

The weather is atrocious. Bright sunshine, not a cloud in the sky, and hardly a breath of wind.

 

The Mad Squirrel is close by, so I’m first to arrive. Despite the absence of a sparkler, the Premium Bitter is excellent, as is the chap behind the bar, who is one of the co-owners of the Mad Squirrel Brewery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mad Squirrel have seven venues in these parts, including a tap at the brewery itself located in Potten End.

 

We discuss everything from Watford, real ale, football and the use of sparklers.

 

I’ve spotted a milk stout amongst the twenty six keg lines. What a venue. This isn’t even in the Good Beer Guide, so imagine how good the two bars that are must be.

 

In the course of my conversation, #39 has arrived, so I order a tray of dark keg beers, all three of the hand-pulled cask conditioned beers being pales.

 

The three ales in question are: the Double Truffle (Truffle & Chocolate Stout); the Hoodwink (Chocolate White Stout) and the De La Maple (Maple Milk Stout).

 

Saracens have just beaten Sale in some rugby game or other, which I take as a good omen.

 

Having just remembered that I now have a lift home on Tuesday, I’m checking out the fridges to see if there are any Mad Squirrels I want to take back with me. Not today, but I form a mental short-list as to what I’ll fetch next time I visit, which worst-case-scenario should be Monday.

 

Next up is the Two Trees Micro on Vicarage Road, yes, that Vicarage Road. The French Toast Brown Ale from New Bristol is excellent and drinks more like a porter than a brown ale.

 

We’re on the way to one of the two venues in the Good Beer Guide, the West Herts Sports Club, which should have five ales to choose from and opens at 5pm weekdays.

 

However, the locals inform us that following an extensive refurbishment, the Club is now down to two ales, if you’re lucky, which tend to be national generic beers such as Doom Bar. Given that it is a bit of a walk, we decide not to go.

 

In any event, it’s now 5.30pm and Fran & Gareth have arrived, hungry, as are we, so we arrange to meet in the White Lion which does food.

 

I’m on the Side Pocket for a Toad, brewed by local brewery Tring, which is pretty good.

 

I’m not sure how it happens, but we end up eating in a Lebanese place close by called Nana’s, which was absolutely fantastic.

 

Between us we must have tried most of the Hot Mezza, the highlights being the Chicken Liver and the Sujuk (spicy homemade sausage). Planning a return visit is well underway before we leave (mental note - not open Sundays).

 

I could do with calling it a day really, but we still haven’t arranged anywhere to eat tomorrow night after the game. Favourite is the Wellington Arms just down from Watford Junction Station, but all attempts to book before setting off have failed, so we’ll just have to go in person tonight. Coincidentally, this is the only pub in Watford in the Good Beer Guide.

 

The Moongazing brewed by Tring is very nice. Whilst they don’t do food anymore, drinkers are welcome to bring in their own food, and the fish & chip shop across the road is highly recommended.

 

Nevertheless, the pub is a little bit further from the Station than I expected, so we could probably do with somewhere closer.

 

There is a huge venue called O’Neill’s right in the shadow of the Station, which I called into on the way down to the Welly, and although there is no real ale and the food is very pubco, this is where we’ll eat tomorrow, despite bookings not being taken.

 

One more for the road, Send Me Sunshine, again from Tring, and again very good. I decree The Wellington Arms Good Beer Guide worthy, and head off back to my hotel.

 

Upon arrival this afternoon, according to the thermostat in my room, the temperature was 22 degrees C. I duly followed the instructions provided, and told the thingy on the wall that I wanted the temperate reducing to ten degrees whilst I was out, in the hope that sleep could be partaken thereof upon my return.

 

When I got back, the temperature was 23 Degrees! At least the windows open.

 

The Brood from Hell

 

Apparently, despite the windows being wide open all night, the temperature is still 22 Degrees C, which clearly it isn’t, so I guess the whole system is a waste of space.

 

The shower is excellent. I’ve decided to wear my newly acquired “To the Football League We’re on our Way” t-shirt.

 

Aside from the black pudding and bacon, breakfast turns out to be a horrendous experience.

 

Three children, let’s say aged three, seven and nine, are all eating at separate tables directly in front of me, and are being “supervised” by their parents.

 

Each child, whilst trying to eat their breakfast, is watching “entertainment” on individual tablet-sized mobile devices, all with the sound turned up. To compound the noise levels, all three are watching different programmes.

 

The older kids are encouraged to help themselves to what they want from the buffet as and when they wish. But, they are yet to be coached in the arts of waiting patiently in a queue and how to behave in a communal food situation.

 

This results in lots of queue jumping (I imagine as a result of them being constantly told they are the most important people on the planet), and lots of trying things and putting them back with the rest of the food for other guests to find, complete with teeth marks.

 

I’m not yet quite with it this morning, so when I visit the buffet and then fetch a coffee, returning to my table to find a sausage on my plate with one end bitten off, I’m not sure if it was me that took that bite, or one of the brood.

 

Other tricks include using the accessible toilet, which faces my table, whilst leaving the door wide open, and constantly being in everyone else’s way.

 

To heap misery on misery, as I’m eating alone, I find myself constantly having to guard “my stuff” and “my turf” from an over-zealous team of hotel staff trying to keep everything moving, on account of the hotel having sold too many breakfast places.

 

I suffer constant loss of cutlery, plates and food. On one occasion I even return to “my” table to find someone else settling in, who is duly evicted. Very embarrassing for all concerned.

 

And don’t get me started on the coffee. Unlike Wetherspoons, you can’t fit an expresso in the same mug as a regular coffee, so you have to drink some weak coffee in order to make space for the expresso. This I do with careful precision.

 

Feeling very happy with myself, I return to the buffet, am away longer than I need to be due to meddling kids, and return to find “my” carefully crafted coffee has been confiscated, sending me “back to Old Kent Road”.

 

What’s next? The arrival of the Go-Lightly Family, all carrying customised large plates, who are instructed to sit at my table as they devour what’s left of the buffet?

 

Thankfully, Jeremy Beadle fails to appear, and I retreat back to my room.

 

I decide that tomorrow, I’ll have to bring my coat down to help mark my territory. As for the brood, I suspect there is no solution there.

 

In the course of enduring this nightmare (first world problems eh?) I note that there are far more Carlisle than Stockport present at breakfast.

 

Off to Wembley

 

As I’m walking up to Watford Junction to try to pull the master plan off, I pass Andy Birt heading in the opposite direction. He’s left his ticket in his room! A quick check of my pockets. All is well.

 

The Tube runs every fifteen minutes and we’re targeting the 11:30. A quick reminder that “we” now consists of #39 (already here); Mary & Fintan (from Luton Airport); Fran & Gareth (already here); Gregg (from Halifax); Stafford (from Wimbledon) and myself.

 

Gregg has arrived at The Holiday Inn Express, and we know Mary & Fintan have checked into the Leonardo, so we all head off to Watford Junction to meet Stafford. I’ve dished the tickets out, so people can catch whichever train they wish.

 

As it turns out, Stafford arrives just in time for us to catch the 11:15, so not only is everyone where they should be, we’re fifteen minutes ahead of schedule!

 

Such is Stafford’s confidence in Passenger Assistance in London that he travelled from Wimbledon to Watford on his own.

 

All that remains is to meet up with Dan and Lesley at The Stadium.

 

I’m getting a bit over-excited, a bit giddy. Yes, me.

 

Upon arrival at a station called Bushey, I stand up in the packed carriage wearing the Posh Topper and calmly announce in my best King’s English, that in my opinion, this station could do with a good trim.

 

Tumbleweeds blow slowly past in the silence……….

 

I’m getting a right slagging off for wearing the wrong hat. But you lot wanted me to wear the Posh Topper. Blimey, what do you people want?

 

Dan is waiting as we meander up to Block B outside Wembley Stadium, so he heads in with the other whilst I wait for Lesley, who arrives shortly afterwards.

 

 

 

 

 

Inside, we have plenty of time for a drink. £6.50 for a can of craft pale ale.

 

My t-shirt is 100% polyester, so it’s starting to get a bit whiffy!

 

Lots of familiar faces of course, including the boss, who insists on taking my photograph. 

 

 

 

 

 

Stafford is enjoying Audio Description of the match through a device you simply collect from any information point in The Stadium, which includes disposable earbuds, no need to book. And very good it is too apparently. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What a shame that County don’t offer an Audio Description Service at Edgeley Park, putting them in the minority of Football League Clubs. According to my research, which we have shared with the Club, this just isn’t hard to do.

 

The irony is that Stafford now enjoys away games far more than home games. A very sad state of affairs indeed.

 

Rant over, and as we are at Wembley, this is a good time for me to remind you of the origin story of the Posh Topper.

 

Posh Topper Origin Story

 

Back in the mid-2000’s, in the wake of the Supporters’ Trust taking over ownership of the Club, I used to wear an ill-fitting collapsible top hat to away games. I still have the hat, which makes occasional guest appearances (no wins at all last season).

 

This used to really annoy a local businessman, who I consider to be a friend, albeit we are ideologically at the opposite ends of a spectrum, who couldn’t accept that you simply can’t get hold of collapsible top hats that fit, on account of the fact that most of them were made for children.

 

So, on one occasion when he saw me wearing it, referring to our differences in world view, he declared that should County ever win anything under Supporter Ownership, he would personally pay to have a hat made for me that fitted properly.

 

When I was leaving Wembley in 2008, having watched County beat Rochdale in the Play Off Final, by sheer chance I saw him amongst the throng, and we exchanged knowing glances. He simply nodded.

 

Following a brief exchange of emails, he promised to stick to his word, and that if I made it happen, he would pick up the bill.

 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to have the hat made in Stockport, but I did manage to organise it via Freedmans on Little Underbank, who measured me up and arranged for it to be made by Christies in London, the only bespoke top hat maker left in the UK.

 

My friend duly paid for the hat, and that as they say is that, the story of the origin of the Posh Topper.

 

Now the Posh Topper is making its Wembley debut fifteen years later, and with five minutes to play, it looks like (with no wins to its name all season), it’s going to redeem itself.

 

But no, cosmic reality bites, and County go down five four on penalties.

 

I told you, but you just won’t listen will you? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Lucky Boy

 

Aside from being frogmarched around the perimeter of Wembley Central Station by the local Police, who clearly have no idea what a mobility cane symbolises, the journey back to Watford is reasonably calm.

 

Tension is mounting amongst my party as Bushey Station gets closer and closer. There is a mixture of “go on, go on” and “please no, I’ll never speak to you again”.

 

As we pull into Bushey, I calmly stand and announce in my best King’s English, that in my opinion, this station could do with a good trim. 

 

 

 

Some applaud. Some get off and wait for the next train.

 

Back in Watford, I can’t seem to get served in O’Neils, and there’s no real ale anyway. I’ve also observed the long queue for ordering food.

 

Everyone else got served ok, including Mike from the Spinning Top and Matty, also from the Spinning Top, but Stafford and I set off for the White Lion, which does food and should be a lot quieter.

 

Shut for a private party! Come on, you can’t blame me for that!

 

We already know that Nana’s is closed, so the next target is the Nascot Arms, a Greene King pub that’s on my list as serving real ale and food. Just around the corner.

 

You know I’m lucky right? Well, here we go again.

 

Inside the Nascot Arms is a connecting internal door to Mr. Tings Thai Restaurant. The pub itself is absolutely hammered as people are watching the “climax” of the Premiership procession, so using what Stafford calls “stick power” we’re allowed to sit in the restaurant with our pints.

 

Following a quick glance at the menu, Stafford and I decide we’ll be eating here. To cut a long story short, we end up as a table for eight (#39 has peaked too early).

 

So, we went from my miserable failure to arrange anywhere to eat, to having some really excellent Thai food in a pub that had six real ales on.

 

Furthermore, according to CAMRA’s usually excellent website that showcases venues that serve real ale across the UK (www.whatpub.com), Mr. Tings had closed. I’ve since sent in an update of course, but it struck me that had the website been up to date, we would almost certainly have eaten here last night and missed out on the Lebanese.

 

I had the Mushroom Tom Yum Soup, followed by the Ga-Pao Kai Daow (the most popular street food in Thailand: minced pork, red chillies & basil leaves, topped with fried egg, served with rice).

 

Regarding the ale, I tried TEA, and Pave the Way, both brewed by Hogs Back, and both were very good.

 

Gregg sets off for Halifax, but the rest of us stay for what’s left of the evening.

 

Around about 10pm, Stafford sets off back to Wimbledon. I offer to escort him to the station, but no assistance is required.

 

This also prompts Mary & Fintan to call it a night. I offer them the opportunity to meet me in Moon Under the Water, the local Wetherspoons, which is close to their hotel, but this offer is kindly declined, and loose arrangements are made to head into London tomorrow, specifically Camden Town.

 

A pint later, Fran & Gareth go back to their hotel, Dan sets off for Birmingham, and I walk with him down to the Station. Must be handy living in the centre of Birmingham. No sign of Stafford, so I assume all is well, i.e. he’s on his way back to Wimbledon.

 

I have to walk past Wetherspoons on my way back to my hotel, and rather predictably, I’m in need of somewhere to recycle some ale by then, so in I go.

 

For some reason I’m simply waved in by the bouncers, past various youngsters fumbling for their ID.

 

There are lots of Carlisle Supporters singing and celebrating in this cavernous, soulless venue, but strangely no County.

 

Without any difficulty at all, I find a quiet corner to hide with my pint of Milestone Fletcher’s Ale, with is actually very good indeed.

 

I start to reflect on the events of the day. Everything more or less went to plan, which considering the number of variables involved was a good effort me thinks.

 

The presence of the Posh Topper predictably led to County missing out, but next season is a clean slate, so the hat will be back, to start its second fifteen year cycle.

 

The first beer was so good, I opt for another. A different one of course (where is the logic in that?), namely the Pacific Simcoe from Mad Squirrel. Not quite as good as the Milestone, but still excellent.

 

It’s 23:08 and food is still being served. Say what you like about Wetherspoons, but what they do, they do very well.

 

For the last two days, I’ve been leaving a trail of Stockport Beer & Cider Festival Beer Mats all over Watford, so if you bump into any southerners in the Masonic Guild Hall in a couple of weeks’ time, you’ll know why.

 

Back at my hotel I stumble on the match highlights on the TV, and unbelievably manage to stay awake to watch.

 

1.10am lights out and relax.

 

Man in a Hat without a Plan!

 

The only entertainment at breakfast this morning is a Wednesday Fan who walks like Jar Jar Binks. Watching him is genuinely hypnotic, and rather calming.

 

No need to fight the brood at the buffet morning. All of the sausages are unbitten, the black pudding unlicked, and the pastries unfondled.

 

I honestly think that I’m the only one having breakfast who isn’t on their way to watch the League One Play Off Final between Barnsley and Sheffield Wednesday.

 

Gareth managed to get a single ticket, so he’s going to the game, and I’ve been asked to “look after” Fran. Any of you who’ve met Fran know she certainly doesn’t need looking after, but perhaps he means “look after” Sopranos style? Hopefully not. 

 

 

 

 

Anyway, as you know, my plan was to spend the day up at Leighton Buzzard. Four Good Beer Guide pubs, plus another worth investigating, plus a nice river, canal etc. Not to mention that the place has a weird name and I have a map prepared, train time-tables and everything.

 

But instead, I’m off to Camden Town (been there, done that) with Fran to try and meet Mary & Fintan, with no plan, no map, and armed with nothing more than an Oyster Card. This is very unsettling, but sometimes you just have to let go.

 

The reason that we’re not travelling together, i.e. with Mary & Fintan, is that somehow Mary got her mobile device wet last night, and now it doesn’t work, so they’ve headed into London early to get it “recovered”, whatever that is.

 

Why the urgency? Because Mary’s Boarding Pass is on the device and she wants to go home this evening.

 

Whenever I’m travelling abroad, I always take two copies of everything with me (tickets, passport etc.) putting one in my bag and keeping the other in my jacket pocket. That way, whatever gets nicked, I’m safe. How do you do that with mobile devices?

 

We’ve been told to get the train to Euston, which I think we can manage, and then the bus to Camden, which I’m confident I can’t manage. The only time I’ve “risked” the buses in London is when I’m with #39 who always seems to know what he’s doing.

 

We find a bus with Camden on the front and get off at Camden Town. This is a lot closer to Euston than I remember. I actually have a map of Camden from a previous visit, but it’s safely filed in my box of beer maps back home, along with all of the other Cs: Cambridge; Canterbury; Chapel en le Frith; Cheadle Hulme; Chester; Chorley; Clapton-on-Sea; Colchester; Congleton; Copenhagen; Cork and Crewe.

 

There’s a lot of memories in that box.

 

The first pub we try is the Camden Eye, which has a choice of keg filth, sorry, craft beers, but the real choice is take it or leave it.

 

I opt to take it, it being the Mangolicious brewed by Maine Brewing, which had the potential to be a really nice beer had it not been so carbonated.

 

We’re meeting Mary & Fintan at a favourite pub of ours, the Southampton Arms, which is really in Kentish Town, so all of this pain will be worth it in the end.

 

It’s a nice day, and we’re not sure about the buses, so we decide to walk it. On the way we pass over what I now know was the Regent’s Canal, where two narrowboats are passing through a double lock (Kentish Town Lock 3), not something you see every day. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One appears to be doing trips for tourists, but the other looks like someone just making their way through London. I bet the canals are easier than the buses!

 

We happen upon the Bull & Gate, which serves real ale. Hurrah! I try the Proper Job from St. Austell, an ale with which I am very familiar, which is ok.

 

We’re now in Kentish Town, and literally as we reach the Southampton Arms, Mary & Fintan get off the bus that pulls up outside. Weird!

 

I espy my favourite word on a pump clip (Tonka) and immediately order the Tonka Frappe brewed by Vocation, which is superb.

 

Then, the Sentinel from Torrside, which just so happens to be my favourite brewery. I’m half expecting to wake up in my 22 Degrees C hotel room, but no, this is all real.

 

What a boozer.

 

If I were to open a pub, starting from scratch, I’d probably end up with something very similar to the Southampton Arms, albeit located in Stockport.

 

Eight real ales, six real ciders, scotch eggs, sausage rolls, pork pies, homemade sandwiches (in which we all indulge), no tea or coffee, a piano and all of the music is played on vinyl.

 

We’re sat in the covered yard / beer garden out back, which wouldn’t look out of place in Lord of the Rings, including some of the characters drinking there.

 

As it says on the outside of the pub, “Ale, Cider”, Meat”. 

 

 

 

 

Come 4pm, Mary & Fintan are getting off to get the train to Luton, and as Fran and I are at risk of bumping into the Wembley hoards, we also set off. In theory, we can get a train from Euston to Watford avoiding stopping at Wembley, so we should be fine really.

 

To finish off, I have the Yarl brewed by Fyne Ales, which is one of my favourite ales. I could have hand-picked the beers on offer here. Ridiculous!

 

We end up on a bus to Kings Cross, and then get the Tube to Euston, where we spot a train to Watford Junction, which we just about manage to catch.

 

Regrettably, this is stopping at Wembley Central, but it’s doubtful anyone will have managed to get from the Stadium in time to get on.

 

However, there are some Barnsley Supporters who manage it, all of whom seem rather aggrieved. The Owls have been promoted.

 

As I’m supposed to be looking after Fran, I resist the temptation to comment on the state of Bushey when we pull in. I can’t look after Fran if I get beaten up, can I?

 

There is a pub called the Southern Cross, which we are yet to try, and which should do food, so I set off to investigate that whilst Fran activates the tracking device she had implanted in Gareth to see how he is getting on.

 

The only ale on offer at the Southern Cross is Greene King IPA, and I refuse to go on that after the afternoon’s delights. Therefore, I decide to head to the Nascot Arms again, which is just around the corner, where I have the Yard Bird by Greene King.

 

As we already know, Mr. Tings isn’t open Mondays, and I sit there wishing it was (which doesn’t work), I realise that I forgot to check whether there was food on at the Southern Cross, so back I go to check.

 

The three of us end up eating fried chicken in the Southern Cross, which also does accommodation (which I’d looked into), but it’s just a little bit too much out of the way to consider for next year’s Wembley trip.

 

The Greene King IPA was very average, but to be honest, it’s very average even with excellent cellarmanship.

  

I then come over all sensible and return to my hotel, without even stopping at Wetherspoons on the way.

 

It is done.

 

The Season is Over

 

The Wednesday Supporters are a lot quieter this morning than they were yesterday for some reason.

 

I’m sat out of sight of the buffet, so I keep on missing out on the black pudding. By the time I’ve spotted some on someone else’s plate and got to the buffet, it’s all been scoffed. Never mind, I’ve had my fair share of it over the past three mornings.

 

By way of compensation, the bacon is particularly crispy today, and I’ve managed to manage my coffee strategy so well, that I’m topping up with double expressos.

 

Gareth & Fran pick me up at the pre-appointed time, and I’m soon back home. When we went through Stoke, there were no banners congratulating Carlisle, like there were congratulating Burnley the last time we lost at Wembley.

 

I suspect it won’t be long before we’re renewing both of those old acquaintances.

 

What have we Learnt?

 

In the car on the way back home, I start to take stock. What have we learnt?

 

Never get bullied into wearing the wrong hat.

 

Stay in Watford for next year’s Play Off Final and book accommodation now.

 

Make sure you stay long enough to do Leighton Buzzard.

 

Best pubs: Mad Squirrel; Two Trees Micro; Nascot Arms; Wellington Arms; Moon Under the Water.

 

Best places to eat: Nana’s Lebanese; Mr. Tings at Nascot Arms.

 

I suspect that once Notts County got promoted, I subconsciously wanted County to stay in League Two. And we also have Morecombe to look forward to.

 

Work is already well underway at The Supporters’ Co-op to create the Supporters’ Calendar for next season, so make sure you get one when they come out (available from first pre-season game at EP on Saturday 22^nd July). I’ve already seen the pictures that have been selected for each month, and there are plenty of you lot featured, I can assure you.

 

Bizarrely, we’re still the only Club to produce a calendar that ties in to the football season, i.e. runs from August to July. Would have thought this idea would have be stolen by now.

 

I usually wear the Posh Topper opening day of the season, but we really need County to get off to a better start than last season, so I think you’ll be seeing a lot of the Peaky Blinder early next season.

 

#On a gathering storm comes a short ugly man, in a tatty blue hat, with a blue right hand.#

 

 

Man in a Hat