Another trip to the capital to report, along with Forest-Newcastle, Maltby Main v Garforth Town and an evening of Cloughie reminiscences with Alan Hill and Craig Bromfield. Meanwhile, Forest break Twitter with season ticket price announcements and de Pfeffel continues to gaslight the nation over partygate. The French have it right, rioting but not letting it disturb un aperatif. Meanwhile, as someone wise pointed out, while they sell out the nation from under us. we continue to roll over and have our tummies tickled. Or (stronger, ruder) words to that effect. Vive la France. I reckon it's all in the anthem; all stirring and revolutionary, up to the armpits in your foes' gizzards and offal, while we beg for continuing subservience to an unelected family of wastrels.
Starting yesterday and then heading off in no particular order, perhaps as a result of listening to a lot of jazz of late, we have a second trip to Champion Hill, home of Dulwich Hamlet.
In a bid to recapture the spirit of skint student days, but more so really to cut costs after losing three days pay recently to striking, Zagger got booked on the National Express to Victoria; genuinely something I doubt I've done since 1990. Back then, the Broadmarsh Bus station was a soul-sapping 70s grim eyesore. What a transformation... into a soul-sapping grim 2020s eyesore. Same bleak feel, just with a bit more unhelpful tech. Slidey doors to keep you safe from the the buses at 'gates' rather than stops and some dot matrix indicators to replace the old chalk boards. And no Broadmarsh Shopping Centre attached either, the concrete monstrosity a victim of, err, being a concrete monstrosity full of 3rd rate pop up shops; never the same since posh shoe shoe Gordon Scott, with it's much loved acrobatic chimp toy in the window moved out all those years ago. Fans of Charlie the Chimp - and frankly what Nottingham kid wasn't - will be glad to know they can see him in the local cultural section at the Brewhouse Yard Museum. Or they could if it wasn't shut down. More on the embrarrassing cultural desert that our once proud city has become later.
Back to the point - as I've been learning, even jazz has a structure once you know what you're looking for - off on the National Express and perfectly adequate it was too. Cheap as chips (£16.80 return) and I can find nothing funny or sarky to say about it, other than to note that my life is not (currently) a mess and that there was no jolly hostess.
Take the National Express when your life's in a mess
It'll make you smile
All human life is here
From the feeble old dear to the screaming child
From the student who knows that to have one of those
Would be suicide
To the family man
Manhandling the pram with paternal pride
On the National Express there's a jolly hostess
Selling crisps and tea
She'll provide you with drinks and theatrical winks
For a sky-high fee
Mini-skirts were in style when she danced down the aisle
Back in '63
But it's hard to get by when your arse is the size
Of a small country...
Depressingly, I figured that if she was say 20 back in '63, she'd be 80, more likely dead by now. Very sad.
Travelling solo this time, as Mrs Z was doing her bit for Derby's economy by being out on the larrup there with her mates, attempting to drink the city dry of gin-based cocktails. By the state of her when I got home, they'd probably come close.
So... bus to Victoria and onto Brixton for a nostalgic look around. I lived in Brixton and Streatham in the mid 80s and still feel very at home there. It was a Clash thing. Guns of Brixton, "Weekends we'd go dancing down Streatham, on the bus" (Stay Free) and yes, I did manage to live in a flat within sight of the Westway for a while, as per London's Burning, so I reckon I've got the full set.
Brixton proved to be at least as uplifting as Brick Lane had the other week, possibly more so. Certainly more 'authentic' and less gentrified. The priority here was to check out a few of the many record shops and there was no disappointment. A few nice bits of Ska and Rocksteady found in Lion Vibes and, better still, Universal Roots, run by Marky, a loveable dreadlocked white guy of about my age. Marky was eager to talk about his life and how he had ended up in London, to the chagrin of his free-spirited family, having run away from the hippy commune they lived on in the 70s. Or 80s. There or thereabouts. I'll be back to chat music and politics with Marky - a man with a great ear for an accent, he had me as Nottingham within a microsecond - next time I'm down. A solid socialist and very, very eloquent on that. Better read than me by far.
Another top character was the lady in the purple coat there in the photo. No interest in buying but right royally dissing the young feller behind the counter in Lion Vibes. Read the next section in your best Jamaican accent for full effect. However much you exaggerate it, will not do her justice. She was magnificent. Strident. "Call this music?" "Play some reggae, boy."
Young lad changes the modern dub thing he's spinning for something a bit more Roots. "That better. Now. Where he from? The singer. Where he from?"
"Err, Amsterdam"
"Ham-ster-dam? Don't give me no Ham...ster...dam. Where he FROM?"
"Honestly, he's from Amsterdam"
"Damn fool. I mean where he from? Where his mother from? Where he FROM?"
The young lad clocked I was focussed on the original Ska boxes and asked if that was my interest. Cue purple coated lady. "Scar. Scar is what you have on your face. It Ski-a. Ski-a. Not scar. Least say it right." I was only glad he'd said it before I had! Formidable.
Anyway, a good handful of singles bought at a decent price - all the Roys; U Roy, I Roy, plus some Derrick Morgan, Dillinger, Jackie Mittoo and more besides... time to move on.
A quick breakfast - the large veggie #2 for a measly £6.50 complete with mug of coffee at the greasy spoon in the arcade - and off on the number 37 to Dulwich.
The Brixton shenanigans had put me a bit behind schedule, and Merch/Binbag/General Manager Mel, my connection, was already down in the bowels of the main stand at a presentation for the visiting 20 or so Athletic Club (Bilbao) supporters, who were over on a visit. The clubs are linked, right back to 1921 when Isthmian League title and FA Amateur Cup holders Hamlet visited the Basque city, invited to play Athletic as part of the Easter tour of Europe. The connection back then was largely down to the fact that Dick Jonas, one of Hamlet's greatest ever players, had played at Athletic's magnificent San Mamés before World War One. There's a superb account of all of this unlikely match, an English amateur team, albeit a very good one, up against such a mighty professional club, in the Hamlet Historian's commemorative issue for this non-league day 2023.
We were shown a wonderful collection of memorabilia - old shirts, programmes, posters, documents and it was clear that the Athletic contingent were very well versed in their global football history and absolutely thrilled to be at Hamlet.
There's a lovely account of Saturday's visit by the Basque friends here and there's no way I can match it. It's all very heart-warming though and highly recommended: https://www.terraceedition.com/home-haute/forward-friendship-dulwich-hamlet-athletic-club-bilbao-football-photography-non-league-day-groundhopping
From there, onto the ground for a quick couple of pre match Peckham Pales and finding a spec for what was shaping up to be a very busy, crowded afternoon on the terraces. A full house of a shade over 3,300 as it turned out. Plus dogs, of course.
An evenly matched first half ended nil-nil with Hamlet looking just as capable as their much higher placed opponents, Oxford City. That said, the visitors had come closest to scoring with a thunderous drive rattling the crossbar. The second half started brightly for Hamlet and they looked the likeliest to score, so inevitably City scored first. Olly Sanderson, on loan from Fulham, finished with a low shot after a misjudged clearance form the Hamlet keeper. The lead was short lived as Hamlet got a well-deserved equaliser when Danny Rose nodded home from close range and shortly after took the lead when a bobbling shot from Gianni Crichlow bamboozled the visiting keeper. Deep joy all round. Brief deep joy. City grabbed an equaliser when Lolos neatly turned and fired into the angle twixt post and bar from 6 yarfds out shortly before the 90 minutes were up and 2-2 it finished, which was probably about right really. It might be a useful point for both clubs.
Post match, Mel kindly invited me into the Board Room where I enjoyed another pint of Peckham Pale and the poshest egg sarnie I've ever had, certainly on a football ground; it might have been a brioche. Here' I spent some time chatting with the Athletic visitors and learning about their club's proud history and important role in Basque culture. 8 La Ligas, 23 Copas del Rey, regular European football including a UEFA Cup final in '77 (lost open away goals to Juventus) and, more recently, a Europa League final. All with a team drawn exclusively from Basque blood. All players are basques or have a strong connection. I'd not known this. Neither had I known the sensitivities around the name. I'd got them filed as Atlético, though that was the despised name change forced on them by Franco. Top fact, the first public display of the Ikurriña, the Basque flag, post-Franco's death, was at the December 1976 Basque derby v Real Sociedad, when both captains jointly carried the flag out onto the pitch and placed it ceremonially in the centre circle. One of the visitors kindly presented me with an Athletic Club pin badge for my collection and I made a mental note to try to visit the (new) San Mamés at some point - the stadium is reckoned by many to now be the best in Spain and the atmosphere sounds amazing. The old one looked pretty special too!
(San Mamés, old and new)
I declined a kind offer to take to the decks to give my new vinyl a spin in the clubhouse as Scolly and Chris put on a nice set of indie, ska, soul and funk, though I did offer to bring down a box of Northern the next time I visit and there's a post-match thing going on. I've done no DJing since Covid and I'd love to do that and get back into it.
All too soon, though not before Mel had presented me with a fantastic player issue home shirt from a few seasons back, another one for the collection alongside the Altona '93 'Boycott Qatar' shirt which arrived this week, it was time to head for Victoria for the return journey, which was as smooth and unremarkable as the trip down. I'd do it again.
I can't re-iterate enough the kindness of people here. Mel was on-duty, working flat out, but still found time to make sure I was OK and then go to the trouble to dig out that shirt. From the bar staff, Scolly, Chris, Jack (the life president, who found time to welcome me and talk me through the war memorial) and countless others whose names I never found out or can't remember in the sober light of day.
Playing Free-jazz, all Ornette Coleman, a challenging listen, with the space-time continuum here, the previous Saturday had taken me to Maltby Main, for a long overdue return to Muglet Lane. The match there, against Garforth Town was sadly as notable for its lack of dogs as Dulwich is for its abundance of our canine chums. Both clubs have recently lost much loved mascots; George at Maltby and Dennis at Garforth. Both were remembered on the match day programme cover and will be sadly missed.
On an afternoon of truly torrential rain, even for Maltby, countless games in North Notts and South Yorkshire never started or, as at Rotherham United a mere handful of miles away, were abandoned. Both teams slogged through it in an uncompromising encounter which finished a comfortable 3-0 to the visitors, all the goals coming in a terrible first half for Maltby. Inevitably, on the final whistle, the rain stopped and out came the rainbow. Lovely but a bit late.
Congrats to Main, by the way, for reaching the final of the Sheffield and Hallamshire Senior Cup on Wednesday, beating world's oldest club Sheffield FC on penalties after a hard fought 1-1 draw in more torrential rain in front of a decent crowd of 215. Main will face Emley in the final at a venue yet to be decided. Hopefully the Miners can go one better than last season where they lost 3-0 to Worksop Town in front of over a thousand at Donny Rovers. UTM!
The night before that had been Forest v Newcastle, a 1-0 defeat for the Reds which really felt like a portent of doom. No rational person could have expected much out of this one, up against a hugely expensive and talented (state funded) side. However, recent results have left us needing to pull out some unlikely wins somewhere along the line and a lot of us had put faith in the lads slogging their way to at least a point in this one. It wasn't to be and, thoroughly outclassed, we begin to look a bit wayward. More positively, another cracking atmosphere at the City Ground, loved by the Köln lads I had visiting and who were largely responsible for my hugely inebriated state by kick off. A trawl from the Old Angel, via Annie's, Cured, the fanzone at the Nav, the Larwood and Voce at the cricket ground had me reeling before kick off. My visitors had come by train and ferry, Rotterdam to Hull, and had done some shopping in Rotterdam which also contributed majorly to the haze.
The Köln lads loved the atmosphere, the proximity of our seats to the play, but were a bit puzzled by the standard of the football on show, which they had expected to be much higher given the money in the Premier League. Forest they knew would struggle, but Newcastle disappointed them. I've done my share of moaning about Newcastle's ownership and I'm still not over 1974 by a long way (see previous blog here:https://peeveeh.wixsite.com/ziggerzagger/post/friday-8th-oct-newcastle-takeover-leads-to-memories-of-the-infamous-74-6th-round-fa-cup-tie), but it has to be said their support was great and the night had a really good old school feeling. Noisy, passionate, but all very much just getting behind the respective teams, not inane slagging of one another or, worse, clubs not even involved. I'd not had a ticket when we were at St James' earlier this seaosn, but word is it was very similar there. There was a lot of love for the CG and the atmosphere on the Geordies' social media, which was nice to see. They'll miss us when we're gone, eh?
Post match, we headed to Binks Yard in the supposedly up and coming Island Quarter, which loosely translates as down by the canal, the old low level station and the NHS walk-in centre! There, DJing, amongst others, was Wrighty, friend of a friend (@Ground_designs), playing a mellow mix of dance stuff, a stark contrast to the decidedly hard techno set he'd warmed up for Sleaford Mods with at Rock City on the Tuesday. Instructed by SM Jason to get the crowd angry - "Success would be getting bottled" - he'd done a cracking job at that before SM came on gto tear the place apart with a launch of their new UK Grim album. I'd not been overly taken with my pre-release copy, playing it at home, but it came alive with a typically arsey, psychotic performance from Jason and even some Bez-esque dancing from Andrew. They're a fantastic live act and maybe it doesn't translate as well to the sofa of a semi in Gedling. Whereas, Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughan...
Still on the subject of the German visitors, it's bloody hard work to find some cultural highlights in the city centre these days to amuse them on a Saturday morning as I needed to. "Can we go to the castle?" Errr, no. It's a shambles, an embarrassment. Much as I love our city and there is so much going on for those of us who live here, if I was a foreign tourist, maybe any tourist, I'd be giving it a wide berth, sad to say.
Last (reportable) excitement of the past fortnight, a truly lovely night at the "performance space", ie theatre, at the Girls' High School, not a part of town I've ever spent much time in, having little or no interest in either High School Girls, street sex workers or cheap skag. Not these days anyway. The night here comprised a talk and Q and A with both Craig Bromfield (@craigbromf) and Alan Hill. Craig is/was the young man from Sunderland 'adopted' by the Clough family in the 80s. His book, 'Be Good, Love Brian' is a poignant and moving tale of life with the family and has some lovely insights into the great man. Spoiler alert though, it ends up sadly, with Craig dipping into the till at Simon's Newsagents on Central Avenue and being cut loose by the Cloughs. The book is a recommended read and, despite the downbeat ending, a wonderful tale of humanity and a lot of fun.
Alan, whose '70s career between the sticks for Forest was cruelly cut short by injury, went on to become Cloughie's right hand man post-Taylor and had some fabulous stories to share, again mostly of the great man's brilliance and humanity, but also of his weaknesses and flaws.
It'd be unfair to nick all of Alan's cracking tales, but I suspect he's not planning to publish them. My two favourites were:
Alan is coaching at Derby for Dave Mackay. Cloughie wants him at the City Ground and phones Alan's wife. Alan's wife phones Alan at the Baseball Ground and says :"Oooh he sounds lovely, you ought to go." Alan arrives at the appointed time. "What's Mackay paying you? I'll pay you more. Have got a car? I'll give you a car? Do they pay your petrol? I'll pay that." Etc.
"I'm under contract' says Alan.
"Fuck that. Phone him now and tell him I said to mention Tottenham Hotspurs. Do it."
Alan does. Mackay gives his blessing.
"Incredible. What was the Spurs thing about?"
"Oh that. He was under contract when I bought him. Sorted it with sixteen grand in a b brown envelope. You start tomorrow."
The second involved Vinny Jones' ghetto blaster. The Crazy Gang were playing it loudly at the City Ground and it was annoying Cloughie. Whatever they were playing on it, it certainly wasn't Sinatra.
"What the fuck's that?"
"Music boss, it's called a ghetto blaster."
"Go tell them to turn it down."
Alan does. They do. Briefly. before turning it up even louder.
"Go ask them again and say please and thank you."
Alan does. Same result.
Cloughie gets up, marches out to the corridor to find the offending device. Picks it up. Throws it to ther floor, it shattering into a thousand pieces.
"Now... turn that fucker up."
Finally then, the great season ticket price hike debacle, which seems to have achieved the impossible and made Forest-twitter even more toxic than it was already getting of late. I've said my bit in a lengthy thread, repeated here for anyone interested. For the uninitiated, Forest have implemented an increase of approximately 20% after freezing prices this season. Controversially, they have done away with the category for 18-23 year olds, saying it was out of line with other Premier league clubs. This has left some young people facing a price hike from about £150 to a minimum of £465:
Might as well chip in on the great #nffc season ticket price hike debate. Everyone else has and I’m bored on a long national express journey
Trying to look at it with a bit of nuance, rather than the Tory “fuck ‘em” if they can’t afford it” and the totally entitled stance…
1) STs have been remarkably good value, especially the concessions.
2) the hike is tough to swallow but…
3) if we stay up we’ll be amongst the cheapest but…
4) if we go down we’ll be right up there as one of the priciest
5) age isn’t a great determiner of wealth. There are millions (sadly) of poor middle aged people for whom concessions don’t apply. There are very wealthy 23 year olds. That said…
6) just suddenly pulling the rug on 18-23s overnight seems rough
7) income is a better determining factor. We used to do UB40 rates (no shitty bland reggae outfit related jokes please 😉). It’d not be impossible to do rates for the unemployed or on universal credit etc
8) before any Tory types jump on and say the poor should just suck it up and not go, it’s meant to be the people’s game not a middle class enclave.
9) some consultation from the club would’ve been nice. “Magic on and off the pitch” my arse
10) if we’re going to pay premier prices. I’d like half decent facilities like hot water in the bogs, means to dry your hands, a seat not regularly covered in bird shit etc
11) a stadium effectively sold out on season tickets is a real problem. Makes it a closed shop to those who *can* afford a ST. Easily and equitably accessible single tickets should be available at all football grounds
12) yes, I’ll be renewing whatever league we’re in. I’m not stopping after 50+ years, but it’s all left a bit of a bad taste.
Next up for me, Forest v Wolves in another crucial relegation-haunted encounter and then Sampdoria v Cremosese the Saturday after - a revisit to the scene of the Des Walker related flooding disaster (in the true sense of the word, sadly) back in '92 see previous blog:
Hopefully, this time I'll get to see a match for my troubles and the good people of Genoa will all come out of it safe and well. I'll let you know... Ciao!
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