'The rain falls hard on this humdrum town, this town has dragged you down ...'
Morrissey's words resonated with me on the drive out of Birkenhead. This was one of the most miserable evenings watching (and having) The Blues in a long time. It was a dismal affair and all you lot sensibly encamped in the chat room and/or listening in by whatever media at your disposal can congratulate yourselves on missing this misery on the Mersey. Anyway, 'On The Road Again' is the title of this thread so we'll return to where this 'little' journey started ...
A sunny Sunday afternoon in Penzance quickly gave way to some grey murkiness over the A30 as me and the white van continued our long haul fright on some increasingly dispiriting journeys to away grounds this season. I'm rapidly coming to believe that it's me who is the 'Jonah' on these travels, but that would be incredibly egocentric and as you know, that's not me one bit. First stop was an overnight stay in Oldbury (near West Brom) at my step-daughter's so I could sort out some 'family business' in Brum first thing Monday. She'd got me a 'Good Pub Guide' for my birthday which I put into immediate good usage when getting off the M6 Monday lunch-time. Not far from Junction 14 is a village called Salt, which is home to The Holly Bush Inn - a lovely old boozer which sells Adnam's and does some traditional (non-poncy) pub grub. Next stop was Southport where an old mate known as 'Alick Jeffrey' in our old team of footballing psueds - I was 'Billy Worst' - now plies his trade. We had a good night catching up on the things that matter, ie football, football and football, and he took the Tuesday off work to show me around town ahead of the trip through the Mersey tunnel. During our promenade on the Lancashire Riviera, it occurred to me that three teams on this north-western stretch of shore had gone out of the league in my lifetime, ie Southport, Workington and Barrow. I have a special affection for Workington as they were our first opponents that I can remember, kindly getting stuffed 7-0 at the Hall back in the spring of '68. I also find it very sad when the teams of seaside teams go out of the league, which maybe I have been thinking a bit too much about lately.
Tranmere too have had their problems, so I was feeling a mite optimistic that we could come away from Birkenhead with three points. Ha - how this reinforces the mantra that you shouldn't get whimsical with the gods of football ! You didn't know it was a mantra, did you ? Well, it is now. There I was sat in a good old-fashioned local called 'The Beehive,' admiring their range of slashed seats, and keeping my '67-'68 season replica shirt discreetly covered up. The three points were still there in my imagination as I wondered if there could be room for a pub with the most unthreatening selection of slashed seats in 'The Good Pub Guide.' Just over three hours later, my whimsy had turned to misery and not even the unexpected rendezvous with my fans, Tinkerbell and The Old Blue Lady, could alleviate the gloom which descended on me with Tranmere's second goal. I couldn't hang around in this humdrum town for one second after the final whistle so me and the white van hurtled down the M53, then along the M56 and finally a wet and windy M6 to the anodyne comforts of the Wolverhampton Central Travelodge, just before the witching hour. I dreamed that Franno, Dougie and Scanners had played the balls that Barney had wanted and that we won 3-2. This morning, I remembered that I remain a sad, sweet dreamer. Oh well, better luck next time and see you at Charlton !