2006/07 - at the Pelican March 17th, 2007

Shed End 06/07 Piss Up

What time is it?

It’s ‘O’ 500

What does the ‘O’ stand for?

Oh my God It’s Early! (with due credit awarded to the ‘Good Morning Vietnam’ script writing team)

Yes indeed, the CSR Piss Up March 17th 2007, kicked off for me at the silly bugger time of 5am. 5 hours after warming up for the event with a couple of bottles of Rioja and 3 hours after Miss Mini Loz had finally decided to stop squawking and allow me to get to sleep. They say women and football don’t mix, this time they were right!

Lucky for me PC Plod is a lazy git and there is no way they would have been marshalling the roads to Glasgow airport as I believe at one point I had my feet on the steering wheel as I grabbed 15 winks whilst doing 80 mph.

‘Good morning sir. What can I get for you? Coffee, maybe a croissant?’

‘Yes you could get me that, it is clearly within your service delivery skills however I would be far more appreciative of a full pint of that thing you call McEwans 80.'

Hmmmmmmmmmmm, lips licked, mouth open, and the day begins with a tentative slurp on pint number one.

However a degree of caution was exercised as I decided to use the hour and a quarter flight to catch up on a little lost sleep rather than knocking back another ale.

So it went snooze, touch down, jerk up in seat semi awake, snooze, taxi to airport, wake up again, stumble off, walk, train, wake up Valerie with text message (so did you Mick – bloody conspiracy she claims), walk, meet Tim W (charlatan Swede, bloody Steve Harley is more Swedish then he is), see Watford team bus, walk and onto Tube to Fulham Broadway.

Now by this time I had already spoken to Steve and Mick and arranged to meet up, Steve has said he would meet us at the station. So off Tim and I get, ready to bump into Papa Smurf and lo and behold he isn’t bloody there. Instead some baby faced assassin with a smooth chin approaches us claiming to be Bluebeard. Being the kind folk we are we decided to play his game and kid on we believed he was Bluebeard and let him join in the day’s festivities. Apparently he pulled off this lie all day, God knows what happened to the real Bluebeard – probably still queuing up for the Shed Bar.

Half an hour to go before opening time, that my friend is slow time, they say jail is slow time, well if that is the case then this half hour was ‘Teddy Sheringham time’ We didn’t know what to do, we stood around, Tim chewed gum, fake BB and I had 2 seconds of joy when a saucy foreign girl asked us what time the game kicked off…. Tick tock, tick tock….. etc etc.

10.50 – standing outside Jim Thompson’s pub, losing fingernails as I scratched the door, very close to licking the window – when all of a sudden a figure appeared across the street. Bluebeard reached for his autograph book and his stubby pencil convinced it was a bonafide member of the Chelsea first team. ‘WHO ARE YA? WHO ARE YA? WHO ARE YA?’ was the probable cry from some snotty nosed Gooner 12 year old. Alas it was not a member of the excessively rich and wealthy but joyously it was Mick, dressed for the match with his boots hung over his shoulder, desperate to prove to Jose that he could do a job for the first team.

10.55 – BB can wait no longer, he peers into the pub, begs for mercy and to be allowed in. The owners are evil, turn him away, despite him flashing his pensioner’s bus pass. We had to wait at least 7 more minutes, 2 minutes later than schedule, I have still not forgiven them!

OPENING TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO

First round on me and just as that one is creating a comfy spot in my belly Paul Seery, official match photographer and Liberal Democrat Separatist and secret member of the Marx and Mussolini coalition party, joins this wayward foursome, to turn it into a hapless quintet.

A couple of pints later and off to the Peli we stomp. The order of arrivals at the Peli is somewhat hazy, I blame that on the London smog. A couple of notable entries were that of Glory55 and Loud & Proud who graced us all with some fine singing (although little that would be recognised round the theatres of the West End!!) and the man mountain that was Scott – in order to get him through the door we all had to take a corner of the pub and lift the entire building up by 38 inches.

Valerie also made a belated entrance after spending her morning shopping for gifts, a shopping expedition of huge significance (or so we were led to believe) which resulted in net gift purchases of £0.00 – which begs the question ‘What was she really doing that morning?’ and ‘What was the real reason Liam’s brother couldn’t attend?’ - Answers on a £100 bill.

From now on any hope of tracking quantities of beer consumption are futile. Lets just say if it was ever in short supply I didn’t notice (and I’m pretty sure Mick didn’t either!!). In the true spirit of cockney spivs dodgy deals for tickets were done between Paul Seery and Andy and between BJD and Tim (unsociable git never even came in the pub – surely a shoeing for the next BFS award!). Geezer, with crazy abandonment, trusted Mick with responsibility for the care of his upstanding daughter and Ossie13 revealed his close friendship a bank manager.. before adding it was a Jewish bank – the chance to poke fun was not something to be turned down (have to say he took it well).

Gullit4, clearly still unnerved by pouring his drink over himself at least year’s shenanigans, arrived in disguise. Gone was the Himalayan sherpa jacket and gone was the Medusa hair (although I suspect this was not due to an attempt to disguise himself but more to do with following the afro murdering trend that Paul Seery had already set)

The drinking was then rudely interrupted by something resembling a football match – an hour and a half where there was much Neanderthalic and utterly entertaining sing songing.

Now there I was, early in the first half, minding my own business, nibbling at my Pizza hut pizza and being offered some of Valerie’s prawn sandwich when, from over my right shoulder, my admittedly tiny ears (nobody noticed that yet?) pick up the sound of some barracking coming my way. I glance in the direction of said verbal attack and who is the culprit? Takes little working out. Having been banished to the Shed Upper from the subs bench after Jose quickly tired of him bouncing up and down in his Dunlop Green Flash saying ‘Go on give us a game Jose…please Jose, let me at them Jose, I can really do it you know, better than that Gooner Cashley’ Mick decides to encourage my contributions to the in match entertainment! ‘WELL!!!!! I NEVER’ I thought, carefully placing my bottle of sparkling mineral water on the ground, taking care not to touch any of the frightful oiks around me, I’ll show him. Before you knew it I had burst into a beautiful rendition of…err…..can’t remember… some strange chant I had picked up from that Tim Lovejoy character! Actually I have to say I thought the atmosphere in the Shed Upper was a vast improvement on the matches I have been to in the past few years and I did enjoy being able to get actually involved in the singing without feeling that everyone around me hated me for it. Only downside was that I was far too far from Paddy Kelly for any rendition of ‘HE’S FAT, HE’S ROUND, HE BOUNCES OFF THE GROUND, HE’S PADDY KELLLY, HE’S PADDY KELLY’ to be worth the effort.

A half time meet up at the bar found Mick, funnily enough, hands full with two pints, and a further pint soaked into his trainers after some passer by had spilled it everywhere.

Further sing songing in the second half including some good banter between the different sides of the Shed Bar (We're the middle, we're the middle, we're the middle of the Shed. We're the west side, we're the west side of the Shed (repeat to infinity) and some faithful chanting in support of our favourite vegetable, lots of ‘Blues Steaming In’ and plenty of well supported ‘One Man Went to Mow’ (and it has to be said the Sheff Utd travelling support did themselves proud on a number of occasions, especially in the first half).

3-0 FT and back to the Peli for more jollities. The owner of the pub acted like an arse about the entertaining singing and as a consequence the singing came and went and came again (in particular full marks to Mick, Glory55, Loud & Proud, Bluebeard, and Katznutz for their efforts and I’m sure there were others joining in that I didn’t see in amongst the crowds).

Time started slipping away and the crowds gradually dispersed as folk had to start making their various was home (Mick I felt for you having to get on a coach – fair to say your legs were a tad wobbly by that point!!)

After all the farewells Tim W, G4, Paul Seery and I made our way to what used to be Blue Spice for some refilling of the food tanks before saying farewell to Paul at Fulham Broadway and leaving the three of us wandering off in search of more liquid relief.

First pub was closed (a farce I hear you cry, closed by 9pm on a Saturday night) – trust me Tim said a lot more than that!! Then we found a place, where I stupidly said ‘I’ll get these’ – by the time I had paid for the three drinks (about £13) I felt I had not just been served but also bent over the bar and been sexually burgled – what a rip off!! We polished off those dear puppies and bid a hasty retreat to…well….. certainly not somewhere to take a first date.

The pissers were so bad you would rather have pissed in the Shed End toilets in the 70s than in these – it was roll up your trousers and peg your nose time (and make sure your laces were not too long) – on the upside it was £1.80 a pint and £2.25 for doubles. Needless to say we didn’t budge again until closing time (before this I witnessed a good old fashioned scuffle across the street when I popped out to make a dutiful phone call to the good lady wife!

Now before the dark hour that is closing time Tim W, well fuelled up by now did offer us two valuable insights into life, little things which I think we should all take with us till the day we croak. Loz, Geezer, Paul Seery, Val and the back of Glory's napper

1. Pauly knows f*ck all about football - this was possibly his most pronounced statement of the entire day.

2. If you live in a house boat women will drop their knickers for you

And so finally the time came to start making our way back to the hotel at Liverpool St (or home for G4) – it was all going swimmingly – easy stroll down to Fulham Broadway, onto the tube, and then Earls Court happened. The tube rolled to a halt and we were booted off and told to get the bus. The word ‘f*ck-a-doodle-doo’ spung to mind. G4 was gone by then and Tim and I made our way to the nearest bus stop and managed to catch a bus into Leicester Square. Once there we walked around like a couple of drunken fools looking at bus stops which would have taken us in entirely the wrong direction before finally happening on one that mentioned Liverpool St! Eventually we made it back to the hotel at about 2am or so and the day was over.

Great day out! Cheers to everyone who made it, sorry to everyone who couldn’t and don’t forget when all is said and done:

WE HATE TOTTENHAM! WE HATE TOTTENHAM! WE HATE TOTTENHAM!