‘Low area enclosed by hills’ of hope

Charlton v Watford

Saturday 21^st October

I met Joss – predicting “a win or a draw” – just after one at Euston and we got on the Northern Line down to London Bridge. On the concourse I’d been asked by a fan, in his forties I’d say, what the best way to get there was so we chatted a bit. He was a silver member like me and hadn’t been able to go last week either. We sort of picked up another couple of teenagers too who asked if I knew where I was going at London Bridge. Got to platform 1 where a load of other fans were and then had to change to platform 4. A few fans got on the first train that pulled in and I magnanimously called them off. See, not all Londoners are unfriendly.

Soon we were looking out at Canary Wharf, the HSBC Tower and the Citigroup Centre – the UK’s three tallest buildings – on the Isle of Dogs as we looped south and east on an iron reflection of the run of the river. Joss pronounced our first stop “Lewis Ham” and after Blackheath we were at Charlton. The walk to the Valley was short and our end of the squat stadium – the site of which I’d been to with my dad for a 2-0 F.A. Cup 4^th Round victory in January 1984 when one of the terraces had subsided – was already about half full with half an hour before kick-off. Watford were wearing all-yellow, the first time I’ve seen them in yellow shorts.

Charlton are on a worse run than us but were a little better throughout a scrappy affair. Foster made a couple of excellent saves but our best opportunities were generally off target with the worst offender being Henderson, who blasted over from seven yards out. Hands met heads, not for the only time in the 90. Our fans were not as loud as they were when I was last at an away match, but that was at Anfield in a Carling Cup semi-final a couple of years back. Joss, however, was pretty enthusiastic and I think a combination of being higher up and having no screen to watch encouraged more concentration on the match. Nevertheless, Watford were awful really: Hameur Bouazza seemed less than a hundred per cent committed to challenge for the ball, whereas Shittu was so over-committed that he clattered into defending team mates more times than is funny…but we got a point. From a poor performance we got a satisfactory result. There’s hope in such mediocre equations.

At half-time I was surprised by an “old friend”, Vicki, whom I flirted with when we were both doing holiday work in Burger King in Watford fifteen years ago. She was in our stand with her Charlton-supporting boyfriend and had looked around and seen me. We agreed that it had been at least five years since we’d met but I did recently send her an email, not something I’m very conscientious about, with a link to a YouTube video I’m in, so it was easier for her to recognise me. Anyway, with a little catching up about family and mention of how many of Vicki’s friends have gone back to Watford to breed and rear young, it was a good time to talk.

After the match, Joss and I headed back to Euston and a waiting train for him and I called his dad, who was already at Watford Junction. I cycled home where Jun was cooking pasta and after that we went out to two “dos”. First, we went to say “good luck” to John, who’s driving off into Eastern Europe and Russia and then training it through Mongolia into China, where he’ll spend a couple of months before heading down to Australia and an MA. He’d arranged for us all to meet at the “Marquis of Granby”, the pub off Tottenham Court Road where Dylan Thomas used to hang out. I’ve been to a couple of other bars on Rathbone Street more than once but this was only the second time I’ve been in there and the first time was just over ten years ago, with John. I found out tonight that he’d “regularised” it with others present there.

Later, we got onto a Bakerloo Line tube - the noisiest route - from Oxford Circus and walked for ten minutes from Kensall Green station to the “William IV^th” on Harrow Road to join Tim and Cheneé for their engagement bash. Most of the usual (ex-)Stanton suspects were there and Faisel turned up too. I enjoyed myself sitting and talking all night though I had gone out with the intention of dancing a bit. We got a double-decker N18 back down Harrow Road and then a second night bus along Euston Road to Kings Cross, where I bought an Observer and confirmed that my hoarseness had been rewarded with Watford moving above West Ham on goals scored. At least Macclesfield (bottom of Division 2) haven’t got a win yet either.