Home again

On reflection, I still hate coaches.

I’ve decided it’s not really the quirky people, the cliques and the smells, however bad they may be. There is a definite demographic that use them, and who am I to scoff at their (sometimes odd) ways. I do know I’m not really part of that demographic though.

No, I think it’s the lack of control in being stuck in a rolling tin can, trundling at 60mph for (sob) 5 hours each way, with only a 30 minute reprise. I love driving myself, and even being driven. Going by train, although costly, is also for me always a preferable option.

The journey back was unremarkable. I thought I’d take a leaf out of Lambert’s book and learn on the job at super fast speed from my experience earlier in the day. So when we stopped on the way back, I was up and out of the bus like greased lightning. I’m not necessarily proud of standing on one OAPs foot, and barging another out of the way in my dash for the door, but I was hungry. Nobody stops me when I’m hungry.

And I’m pleased to say my acts of ABH were not in vain either. First in the queue at the Burger King at Blyth Services. Get in. The two shellshocked staff at said eaterie didn’t know what had hit them. I was like the bloody Pied Piper, bringing with me a trail of 50 or so fellow travellers (see, I feel a kinship now), all wanting to get fed in the 25 minutes we had been allotted. The poor spotty adolescent actually dropped a full fryer tray of chips straight on the floor, on seeing the horrific sight of us all. My God, that was funny…

So, to sum up – travelling by coach will never be my first, second or even third choice of travelling to a game (walking to Birmingham isn’t THAT bad, I reckon). It is however a solid fourth choice. No longer do I dread the experience. The people at the front of the buses, while cliquey, do genuinely enjoy their days out – and frankly, who am I to scoff at that. I joked earlier about the Club Canary ‘badgers’, but really, a travel club that has been running for 30 years is something rather good, and reinforces the togetherness that tends to become synonymous with our club.

Having said all that though, the sixty something woman three rows behind me, with a voice as penetrating as a fucking pneumatic drill hammering at my temple for 9 hours, can do one.

23:09 – day over. Cheers for reading. If you have liked my ramblings, I may well do one again during another epic journey out of Norfolk.

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4,293

4293.

That’s how many days I have waited to see NCFC win in the top flight. Judging by the nervous, tense, and very very quiet atmosphere during the game, I suspect there are a lot of fellow away day sufferers.

The cheer at the final whistle, however, was something else. I bounded back to my orange coloured chariot, full of enthusiasm for the trip home.

And the regulars are celebrating in some style as well.

Humous and celery. Rock and roll.

18:08 – M62. Stuck in traffic.

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Preparing for the Olympics

It’s fair to say I hate being on a bus on a motorway. For anyone that knows me, they know I like my cars, my driving, my accelerator pedal. (you can take the boy out of the Fens, but…). So pootling along at under 70 on a clear, three-lane road is a bit alien to me, and a bit annoying. To be honest, it’s only writing this blog, and listening to the Norfolkese background noise that is keeping me vaguely sane.

Respite however, came in the form of a stop. Not that that wasn’t without it’s drama either. Where shall we stop? Shall we stop? Does anyone want to stop? (“YES!”). We’re going to be too early at the ground, shall we stop for 30 or 45 minutes? All of these fevered debates were had in 10 minutes. It was utterly riveting.

Then then the stop itself. Again, I was woefully underprepared. Before the bus had been taken out of gear, the troops lined the bus gangway, rendering a break into the queue impossible. Once off the bus, fellow fans that I had previously, erroneously assumed to be elderly and slow to walk, set off as if they were preparing for the Olympics. They were in the queue for KFC or the toilet (depending on bladder function I assume) before my foot had touched the car park concrete. Awesome.

Back on the bus. My lovely bus. Aromas of KFC added to the previously mentioned heady mix of smells. And I’ve just drawn Elliott Bennett in the draw – come on Benno…

12:38 – M61. nearly there…

Badgers create great excitement

I can smell urine. I’m fairly sure it’s not mine.

So, things I have learned in the past 90 minutes:

1. It’s difficult to use earphones. I have witnessed an excruciating five minute – yes, five minute – attempt to insert a set of bud earphones into a pair of large and hairy ears. I could tell they have been used before due to the crusty wax encasing them. The poor bugger only listened to whatever he was listening to for six minutes – I can only assume the battery ran out in the anticipation of being used.

2. Cody MacDonald still plays for us. a full on conversation about why he isn’t in today’s squad. Words fail me.

3. Canary Miles stickers concentrate the mind. For the uninitiated, there is a loyalty scheme for coach-goers, whereby you accrue stickers for every away game you travel by coach. The amount of stickers you get depends on the distance travelled, and you get a bonus sticker if NCFC win. These details however, are not important. Oh no. The beauty of the stickers is that they concentrate the mind of the traveller like nothing else. Watching the attempts to peel the sticker off their backing and paste them on dog eared cards (you need forty stickers to fill it) reminded me of the slightly simple guy who finishes last in the mental agility round on the Krypton Factor, trying desperately to put the six jigsaw pieces in the frame, before filming ended and the studio closed – I felt like a sneering Gordon Burns overseeing it all.

4. Badgers create great excitement. “Club Canary commemorative badgers, only £2.50″. Badgers? Are the RSPCA aware of this? Oh, badges. I should have known. The squeal of excitement at a change in the cabbage routine created a fervour that swept the bus like wildfire, a buzz I can only relate to that of the expectant masses in St. Peter’s square upon hearing that the white smoke signalling a new Pope is rumoured to be only minutes away.

I am getting bored now. My 1/3 of an inch legroom is getting tested with every jolt in our country’s fine road network. But I’ve just had a lovely instant coffee, served with a smile, so at least I can’t smell urine at the moment. Although, given half the coach has also had a drink, I fear my respite will only last an hour or so.

10:51 – A1M, just past M18 junction.

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The skills of a ninja

I hate coaches.

Not entirely sure why they deserve the vitriol they get from me. Maybe it is the vomit inducing 5 mile trip back from swimming lessons on a Tuesday morning at primary school 25 years ago, the whole of the bus being sent into a stupor as the cabin is enveloped in a chlorine fug.

Or it might be the fact I am of grand stature (horizontally and vertically, rather than socially). Indeed, the first bus I entered today afforded me a legroom of minus 5 inches. I had considered that the front seats could offer me more legroom. Alas, i never found out.

For someone, in the approximately 30 seconds the bus had been there, had got on the bus, distributed numerous items of clothing on all of the 12 front seats, and got off again – all seemingly before the hydraulic hiss of the door opening had even subsided. Wow. We have someone with the skills of a ninja in our midst. The Germans get stereotyped with the beach towels on the sun loungers, but let me tell you, I reckon they’ve learned everything they know from this rare Norfolk breed of person.

So, not a very auspicious start- I get off the bus and look for another one.

Actually, let’s rewind two minutes, as I must describe those events as well. There is a pattern of people migration here that Attenborough could study for a lifetime, and still not fail to be amazed. It goes as follows:

Bus No. 1 arrives. There is no mad rush however. Just a mild saunter of 50 or so people, all warmly greeted by the driver. Some fans are more equal than others, it appears.

Buses No. 2 and 4 arrive. 2 is ignored, 4 is flocked to. I get caught up in the melėe. It transpires, despite the haphazard parking of Sanders’ finest, everyone (bar me) knows exactly where the bus is going to stop, to within half an inch. They KNOW. Despite my efforts to be at the front, I’m about 20th in the queue.

My second choice of bus is Bus 3. Not really much of a stampede to this one either. Lots of dissenting muttering around though. Odd.

My bus steward for the day is Gus. Nothing more to add there.

So, I hop on to the recently arrived Bus 3. I’m about 10th in the queue. No coats though, this time. Seats ‘reserved to away season ticket holders’, or so the A4 paper says. First two rows. Can’t ever remember that being in the benefits package for signing up to an away ticket.

“it’s all right, we just put them on there for us”, is heard.

Still, it’s not all bad. My physical stature, slight dribble out of the corner of my mouth and the forced, manic look in my eye has meant that the spare row 3 seat next to me is left unoccupied. And, I have appeared to have chosen a coach that gives me 1/3 of an inch spare legroom. Result.

Right, that’s 30 minutes passed. I fear the overenthusiastic length of this first entry may be the longest one I do today, 3G connection, laziness and a very recently found state of nausea whilst writing on the move may be contributing factors.

08:38 – just going on the A47 Swaffham Bypass. Not ready to kill just yet.

21:27 – The night before.

The only other blog I’ve ever written was my account of the day out to Gorleston for the first NCFC pre-season friendly of 2011/2012, for the excellent Little Norwich blog. While I was writing it, I found that there was far more material from immediately before and after the game that could prove to be interesting to read, than a report on the actual game itself.

And so fast forward a few weeks, to Bolton (a). Keeping in line with the above theory, I am going to write on my experiences of the full journey, by coach, to Bolton and back. I intend to update it as the day progresses. Let’s see how it works…

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