Grunge

I read The Dharma Bums much of the morning which I'm really enjoying. Kerouac’s style, the way he conjours images into the mind, is just fantastic. Mum and Dad went on a tour of the two Nannas and while they were out Grant rang, talking about Junkie by William Burroughs and a Velvet Underground LP he's just got. I’m going across tomorrow. It felt good to talk to him.

At five Robert rolled up for the football and we set off for Walshey. The weather was miserable, gloomy, and wet and Robert was soon cursing and swearing and getting frighteningly intense as we made a wrong turn and headed fifteen miles into Whincliffe. We hurtled back through orange streets into Walshey itself, stopping, making frantic U-turns, asking passers-by for directions to the ground, which we reached with minutes to spare. The Athletic contingent was already queuing, shepherded by several policemen. Facilities for visiting fans were terrible. The rain streamed down as all the Easterby supporters were herded into the Newton End Stand.

Athletic looked terrible, ragged, and slow, Walshey going ahead easily after twenty two minutes and it felt like another drubbing was in store, but Easterby kept battling and Walshey looked as weak in defence as we did. Still, we were jubilant when Newlands equalised.

The second half was amazing, Easterby on the attack, nail-biting end-to-end soccer until we started to dominate, then attack after attack thrown forward, the Walshey ‘keeper Trevor George having to make several superb saves. Sure enough, five minutes from time McArdle blasted the ball home amid falling players. I couldn’t believe that they'd actually done it!! The last five minutes was unbearable. Robert and I walked to the car in amazement.

On the way back to Easterby we got completely lost again in the vast grunge of urban Walshey/Heathdale/Debdenshaw, vainly searching for the motorway but ending up on the road to Hydebridge instead. Robert seethed with frustration once more, swearing and cursing and I felt terrible he was having to drive all the way back and so I told him to take me to Dearnelow to save time and trouble. We dropped down over the moors on a tiny B-road in thick, patchy fog, getting back just before midnight. Carol made us both a big supper.