Port Vale.
This trip had an unusual challenge in that we were going to a place that doesn’t exist. Port Vale has a long, largely undistinguished football history but still doesn’t exist on a map. To find them you have to look for a place called Burslem – a satellite town of Stoke. Given this problem we were taking no chances – we had the AA Routefinder printed out and – horror of horrors – Bill had brought a SatNav with him. My dislike of these contraptions is well documented, along with all the weird and wonderful – not to say comical – mistakes they have been known to make. However, the target today was only a short hop from junction 15 of the M6 so it would have been churlish not to give it a try.
Leaving deepest Kent in good time – or so we thought – we had a rendezvous with hairdresser FOD in a good real ale pub. Last year’s tour of duty by the RBA had apparently unearthed this gem so Bill in particular was looking forward to arriving in good time. The problem with leaving from Kent is that you are steered towards the Dartford Tunnel / M25 / M1 / M6 route rather than the much more civilised M40. Given the 9 mile stretch of roadworks on the M25 swiftly followed by the 8 mile crawl to the junction of the M1 / M25 followed by two separate sections of roadworks on the M1 measuring about 13 miles in total it was no surprise that, at the very time we were supposed to be meeting at Burslem’s finest pub we were actually pulling in to Watford Gap services, some 100 miles away. The “lady” in the SatNav said we would not arrive until 2:15, so Bill’s treat wasn’t looking very hopeful.
As we approached the north midlands (if that is where it is) Bill turned on the SatNav and the lady shouted “toll road” at us. It sounded just like he had woke her up from a dream and had no relevance whatsoever to where we were. Not a good sign. However, credit where it is due, “she” guided us successfully the 5 miles or so from the junction to the outskirts of Burslem and even waited just the right amount of time before shouting “take the junction” when it was time to leave the main road. That’s where our problems started. Having guided us into town we were “instructed” to turn right at a place in the road where there was no right turn. We were then told to” turn right then bear right”. Ignoring (again) “her” instruction to drive into somebody’s front room, we waited for further instructions. “In 80 yards, turn left”. Fair enough, I thought, that sounds about right. “Turn left”. I turned left. Into a cul-de-sac. “Turn round where possible”. My mind said “are you taking the piss?” but my voice said “I don’t think that’s right, Bill”.
At this point Bill produce the AA instructions as well as the SatNav and we were reduced to listening to this damned woman telling us “turn left” at every opportunity while ignoring her and looking for the right road name. I don’t know if Burslem is a poor town but they don’t seem to be able to afford signs for their roads so it was sweet relief when I noticed a sign on a post pointing towards Port Vale Football Club. The instructions and SatNav were consigned to the glove box and we headed for the car park. Sadly we were too late for the FOD pub so had to settle for the grubby little place at the end of the road. With no food and staff with an attitude that we were inconveniencing them by being there, it came as no surprise that it looks top of the “next!” list of pub closures.
To make my cheer up call to Sparky I had to go outside. Despite battling against the gales, the noise of screaming, snotty kids and a back alley next to the pub that looked like a breeding ground for rats, I managed to get through and make myself understood. At the pub were Lord and Lady Llanwarne, Oompah Loompah (friend of the stars) and some others, although not many.
With no food available at the pub we were relying on the in-ground catering for sustenance. Another let down I’m afraid. Luckily, one of the few was already tackling a “meat” and potato pie so I had a lucky escape and had to settle for a cheese and onion pasty. They were offering something called “burger dogs” which were, in fact, very long frankfurters in a long, dry bread roll. Not for me. No chips – with or without gravy – meant my diet was having a good day anyway.
My “Ryder Cup 2010” polo shirt instigated a discussion on golf during which Bill revealed that his handicap had gone up from 2 to 8 due to his double knee replacement, although mine has apparently held firm on 6. Let nobody ever call me a bandit on the golf course again!
Entering the all-seater stand, the 211 Shots supporters were well spread out. A giant scoreboard hanging from the roof gave the impression of a restricted view (albeit a false one) so most were gathered down the front. We spotted and greeted our travelling companions from the Shrewsbury trip who had made use of the Trust Bus this time (well done chaps) and then our old mate Wakefield Shot. Naturally, we elected to spend the match with him, giving our expert advice on the season so far. This was only his second game so far and we needed to fill him on tactics etc. By the end of proceedings he had formed exactly the same opinion of the state of things as we had over the six we had seen. Have we become that predictable? The most ironic moment of the day was undoubtedly the playing of Robbie Williams’ (Port Vale’s richest greatest fan) song “Let Me Entertain You” before the game. Didn’t they know it was Aldershot they were playing?
The all-seater stand did cause a few problems of its own. Many fans – me included – prefer to stand when watching football but the powers that be seem to be of a different opinion. What the powers that be don’t realise is that, when you’ve had two knee replacements, you need to stand up every now and then. The fact that other people choose to sit in the two seats directly behind you out of a possible two thousand empty ones then moan when you need to stand up seems to have completely passed them by. The ensuing argument was, however, the highlight of the 90 minutes it took to conclude matters on the pitch.
Another delayed journey home, adding about an hour to the expected journey time, rounded off the day just about right.
You will probably have guessed that no, we didn’t have a lovely day the day we went to Burslem Port Vale.
