The Watching Football in a Pub Experience

M is up at mum's, his blue Rover outside when I get there. What a surprise! (I think not!).

This was after going to the Longbrooke, my first visit to the St. Thomas pub in at least a few months, ever since that bloody awful, ugly old football fanatic woman got me thrown out. Well, she's there again, of course, her ugly, cocky semi-Scouse voice rising above the din of the unbelievably packed pub - there must be at least one hundred and fifty people in the place, most watching the match.

This place used to be called the Valiant Soldier and it is this spirit of belligerance and menace that still hangs in the air. The place has in recent times seen attempted murder (by hammer attack) and various violent arguments, another of which takes place today. From my position, standing, hidden away in the corner, a position affording a mere glimpse of the big screen, I have a fine view of an incident the other side of the room. One young man is arguing ferociously with a young woman, both giving as good as they get. Not your usual confrontation. It spills out across the whole main floor of the pub, from one end to the other, before the man's friend takes him outside to cool down. The woman is following, continuing to shout and attack the poor man.

There are several people there that I am quite well acquainted with. Sean (the Arsenal fanatic although this time not wearing his red Gunners shirt), Wayne (the window cleaner who is always very chatty and friendly towards me) and one or two others. I am standing in the corrider that leads to the mens toilets, like standing at the entrance to Piccadilly Circus tube station.

At this point, I speak to Pete, the Liverpool fan. He must be nearly forty and he must spend a third of his weekly income on drink and cigarettes, something which is belied by the haggard look on his face. He is quite tall and thin - scrawny - and has long, flowing dark hair; his girlfriend is absolutely gorgeous, someone I have spoken to before but now can't remember her name. I commend Pete on his Photoshop picture/caricature on the wall, something which has benefitted from his professional print work at the council. It depicts a very, very old man who is a regular here - a coffin dodging' geezer, according to the picture - who really is late for his appointment at the crematorium. He is not here today, though.


After last night, it's just lemonade and ice, no drinking for some time. Am I an alcoholic? No, I think I just like the release of a giant binge once a week or so. I never drink except on one of my binges.

Actually, the place is so incredibly crowded that I get to talk to this quite nice, mature woman who is a Man Utd fan. Let's call her Sarah, since I never got to find out her real name. She is rather petite, dressed in skin-tight blue jeans and a nice black top hugging her slim frame. I think she quite likes me - you know when you 'connect' with someone straight away. Of course, she must be at least forty. She talks of her 'in laws' and how they are all Millwall fans so I ask if they are from New Cross. But, no, they are from Sydenham, classic Crystal Palace country.

Anyway, the 49 game unbeaten run comes to an end thanks to a suspect penalty from Nistelrooy and ...

I leave the place immediately after the match. If I'd had more than £3 left on me, I would have stayed, maybe chatted up the nice woman from London a bit more, or just continued to drink and get drunk. 'Drink, but never drink too much to think', in the words of Control (Cyril Cusack). Alas, when you have no money you must leave the premises and return home.

At Marsh Mill, M is baking a cake, a process which takes a long, long time, as usual.
The programme/documentary on Virtual History is superb. It features CGI graphics depicting Churchill, Roosevelt, Stalin and Hitler, all rendered in incredible, life-like reality on the screen. Good stuff.

The evenings are drawing in now, daytime fading as early as 5 o'clock. Did the clocks go back this weekend? Who knows!