I finally pluck up enough courage to visit the bank and check my accounts. Good news. I take another dividend out of the company and phone the Hunter House Hotel. White van man is no more.
Phone Weggie again. Voicemail. Bollocks.
"Er...um...okay, you now have 20 seconds to explain the connection between Weston-Super-Mare and SUFC. Alternatively, you can ring Kan on...."
He calls back and we arrange to meet in the Sheaf View before the game. Apparently, I won't have any trouble recognising him, I'm to look for a, "fat guy with a beard." After three weeks without a shave, I can find one of those in the mirror.
Which reminds me of one of Roger McGough's little rhymelets.
Had a shave.
Did the Times' crossword.
Had another shave.
Woke up, had a shave and headed for the old home town. Arrived in Sheffield along the Parkway and wondered whether or not I would be able to negotiate safely the magic roundabout at its conclusion. More by luck than any skill on my part, I was successful and emerged the other side. Past the station, a fond glance in the direction of the Leadmill, the site of my 15 minutes, up onto Arundel gate and eventually onto Ecclesall Road. Damn! I hung a left somewhere and ended up on Cemetery Road and from there somehow to BDTBL to get the tickets for the match on the morrow.
Back onto Ecclesall Road and the only two landmarks I recognised were the Nursery Tavern and the Polish Club. It is not my town any more.
We checked into the Hotel and set off for an explore...that's Dragonspeak for shop. We discovered the delights of Woody's sandwich bar and then shop hopped from there in a townwards direction. After the first three or four, I just loitered outside and had a smoke while the girls did their thing. It was hot so I borrowed one of the Frog's hair bands and did the sad and lonely pony tail bit at about the same time as I noticed a men's hairdresser's. No appointments necessary. Mmmmmmmm.
We passed Berkeley Precinct and I noticed what might have been a Thresher's. I went in on the off chance and discovered another of the harder to get Islay malts.
I enquired about the Bunnahabhain and they told me of a whisky shop in Lincoln that may be worth a visit. Again, mmmmmm.
Right, head back then. We hit the Precinct again and Idris feels the urge to 'Let's go, Tesco!' I arrange to meet them in Woody's and tootle off ferra spot of topiary.
Needless to say, they weren't in Woody's. They were still on around aisle 6 when I found them.