Whilst working in PR in London at Bite Communications, days seemed too long, nights too short and my journey home would be different every day. On any given weeknight, the trains could be delayed, cancelled or lines off and this would affect my routes home and to work. I would never complain about it though – it made things very diverse, and often led to meeting many and various different people. My normal route if there was one, would be to come out of work at Bite Communications and get a district line train direct to Embankment, before walking up the side entrance to London Charing Cross for one of three different trains back home to Dartford, Kent. I would get which ever one was leaving next, and then choose to get out at Slade Green, Crayford or Barnehurst as all were close to my house in Wyatt Road. On this one particular Tuesday night (3rd October 2006), all three lines were delayed for over an hour and I had this time to kill. I nonchalantly popped into the conveniently located “Ha Ha Bar!” at Charing Cross for a pint. Expecting to have just one or two and then get my train home. However when I got in there they had the old Sky Sports News on, with all the football updates, which was great. There were no obvious seats, so I spotted a young lady sipping on a red wine and asked her if the seat opposite was free. It was and I sat down, thinking the young lady was with a mate, or more likely a boyfriend, as she looked extremely pretty in the busy bar full of people suited up and finished work. We got talking and it turned out she was a Swedish lady who had spent some time living in Scotland and was now in the big city looking for a job. Her accent hinted at Swedish, Scottish and American at differing intervals, and she recognised me as Northern Irish having met some of my fellow countrymen during her time in Scotland. She Her name was Inga Louise and she spoke intelligently of doing a degree, some travelling and job hunting. We were getting on very well, and she was alone and had just come from a job interview. I always loved Ingrid Bergmann as a kid, the famous Swedish actress and this petite young Inga had some charm.
Getting wood from a Sweden girl
Time marched itself on, and I lost track of it, totally enchanted by this little Swede. At one point I thought there’s no way she would want anything from me, then we just got closer and closer over red wine and beer, and soon I was facing the reality that time was so late I had to make the last train from Charing Cross. She asked if she could come back with me, and of course I said yes, it would have been a pleasure. Before we had even left the bar that night I had placed my hand up her shirt asking to feel her Swedish nipple. I remember them as very very nice nipples, and very tiny, yet her breasts were a nice size. As we boarded the train we got pretty cosy, kissing snogging and fondly in some kind of dream like journey, if this was to be a one night stand, it sure was an interesting one. I unbuttoned her shirt on the train and remember a male business man looking over, aware that I had exposed a part of young Inga. We were both drunk, and I am sure she won’t blame me for anything that happened. It’s just one of those things that happen on a night. I was all into her, and I knew that the very next morning I would need to be in Bite Communications to do a “sell in” with Katy Cook for the CPP client we worked on. I would be ready for it, and perhaps now with a smile.
Inga Louise – my Swedish girl for a night
She classed my penis as my “peepie”, which I found hilarious, even in the Ha Ha Bar she put her hand close to it and wanted to know what size it was. It was all a bit surreal. It felt like a perfect two people meeting by chance in that pub, and only because my trains were delayed. We shared my single bed, tightly up against each other, she’s the only Swede I’ve ever seen nude and she looked great, I wish she’d of let me have a photo of her breasts, they were great! She also played me a tune on my guitar, and this is the only photo I kept of Inga Louise. As I got my train into work I sent her a text message and we arranged to go out for drinks a few weeks after. I took her to the posh club Cafe de Paris to watch The Belgrave Scandal, about a month later, and the passion and the memory was all but gone. Inga Louise provided me with a very random bit of pleasure and I often wonder where she is now. We didn’t talk about Abba or Ikea. And if the Beatles had changed one of their song titles, then I was definitely a man with “Swedish wood.” on an October morning in 2006. All the best to young Inga in her quest for happiness.
The Time My Mate Was The Star Of Driving School – BBC1, 1997
Back in 1997 I was learning to drive in and around Newtownards. I had turned 17 and would do my driving test in my birth town of Newtownards. My driving instructor was Desi Bateson, a friend of the family, and my driving lessons were paid for as a 17th birthday present from my Granda (Samuel Blair), who was himself a bus driver during the troubled times in Belfast. At the very same time I was learning to drive, there was a TV show on BBC 1 called ‘Driving School.’ In essence it was the FIRST reality TV show of the new generation (forgetting things like ‘Beadles About’ and ‘Watchdog’) as it filmed real drivers learning how to drive. I used to watch the programme every week, and a certain Welsh cleaner named Maureen Rees took ages and ages to finally pass her driving test and caught the imagination of the British public, even in a pre-Drumcree Bangor. Well fast forward 11 years and something from the day Maureen Rees passed stuck in my mind and came back to life in The Windsor Snooker Club of all places…
In there I was getting ready for the Northern Ireland v. Czech Republic match when Graham Anderson the vice chairman of the South of England Northern Ireland Supporters Club produced a shock. I had known Graham since I was 25, and had found him to be quite the type of character I’d like to be when I’m his age. He still had time for family, friends and lunatics away from work and social activities. He brought out two newspaper clippings in the bar, revealing his very own archives of reality TV stardom. This enthusiastic Ulsterman, Graham Anderson, was indeed the Driving Instructor who PASSED Maureen Rees that day after God knows how many efforts. Something twigged!
The Time My Mate Was The Star Of Driving School – BBC1, 1997
I had actually remember back in 1997 reading about how it was a guy from Northern Ireland who passed Maureen Rees, but it was only then (last week in September 2008) that I discovered it was actually one of my good mates, Graham Anderson. What a shock. What a man. And such is the beauty of life, that it was a hidden classic from the archives waiting to be retold. Re-telling the story will be hard, but understand that Maureen Rees was a really shit driver to start with. On Kangaroo petrol, the wrong way down one way streets and breaching red lights, Maureen Rees was a driving instructors nightmare. The show on TV planned to show that with a lot of time and effort, even someone like Maureen could eventually pass. The time she did, the man in the passenger seat was the current Vice Chairman of SOE NISC, Graham Anderson.
Its that old theory isn’t it “you think you know someone, but you don’t.” And its what makes life interesting you know, that in every person you meet there may be something you should never assume and something major they have done but never mention it. With me, I was the editor of a national football fanzine aged 16. Not many people would know or care about that, but it’s a fact that is condemned to the history books. Anyway you look at it, Graham Anderson, by just merely doing his day job, was actually the real star of the UK’s first reality TV show: Graham was the Dundonald man who put Maureen Rees on the road. I’ll dig out those video archives someday, or maybe even search YouTube for it, in the meantime there are some media articles on Graham Anderson and Maureen Rees, and a few links…I managed to pass my driving test in a snowy Newtownards about 3 months before I turned 18. But it was just another day on planet earth…
Welsh cleaner Maureen Rees became a household name in Britain after spending hundreds of pounds on lessons and failing the practical test several times. She failed to pass the test another two times during the series as well as the much easier written exam known in the UK as the theory test. Maureen’s memorable moments include moving into the overtaking lane of a dual carriageway in the path of an overtaking car, and accidentally running over husband Dave’s foot. She eventually passed in the last episode in an automatic, though after the series finished she passed a manual test. Maureen became quite a celebrity and even released a single: her cover of Madness’ “Driving in my Car” reached number 50 in the UK singles chart.
The Time My Mate Was The Star Of Driving School – BBC1, 1997
Teenager Danny wanted to pass his test so he could visit his girlfriend in Preston. Although he passed first time, he had already broken up with Jill. An older lady called Joan passed her test at the beginning of the series (even though it took her a while to realise that she needed to switch on the ignition before the car would move), but had “lost her nerve” and needed lessons to rebuild her confidence. The main instructors were Pamela Carr from Streetwise Driving School and independent Paul.
Graham Anderson
Northern Irish man Graham “jack of all trades” Anderson became a household name in Britain after passing Maureen Rees on her driving test on about the 7th attempt. As a driving instructor, Graham was simply doing his day job, only to find that the BBC cameras were very much on him in the classic episode of Driving School, broadcast by the BBC in 1997. Graham curently resides in Bristol with his wife and son, and is a dedicated member of Northern Ireland’s Green And White Army, having travelled all over Europe watching the unpredictable exploits of the Northern Ireland international football team. In 2006 Graham was elected as the Vice Chairman of the South of England Northern Ireland Supporters Club, and plays a big part in club activities including attending meetings, organising away trips and looking after younger members who consistently and constantly act the lig. Graham is a man of many stories and has done a lot of travelling. He is truly one of those people you are blessed to meet on life’s little corridor.
The City of Oxford Turns Northern Irish! SOENISC at The University Derby – Oxford United v Cambridge United
By early 2007, the South of England Northern Ireland Supporters Club decided to hit Oxford, the furthest north we had ventured for a meeting (except the mainland NISC 5 a sides). There were four Northern Ireland fans based in Oxford, none of whom had actually attended our meeting our even joined our club, and with a bit of publicity we decided to make it a “home” meeting for them and get them all down. This was to be a big attendance with Sean, David, Ernie and another Oxford based member whose name I forgot all saying they would try to make it down. So a quick check of the fixtures revealed that Oxford United would be at home to Cambridge United the very first Saturday in February 2007. We were off to the University Derby!
The City of Oxford Turns Northern Irish! SOENISC at The University Derby – Oxford United v Cambridge United
That was a perfect date for the meeting, being just a few days before the Northern Ireland v. Wales friendly and also the first ever match outside the football league between these two renowned sides, both from University cities. By coincidence there were four potential Northern Ireland ex or current internationals to meet that day, so all was looking good: Jimmy Quinn (Cambridge United manager), Darren Patterson (Oxford United Youth Team Coach), Chris Tardiff (former under 21 international) and Michael Corcoran (another former Northern Ireland youth international), and suddenly the SOENISC year of 2007 was starting in…Oxford.
University Derby
I had remembered Oxford United FC from the 1980s, when they were in the top flight and indeed won the League Cup at one point (a 3-0 win over QPR if memory serves) and missed out on European Competition due to the ban on English clubs. Now suddenly they found themselves in the conference, and playing against an ex- Division Two (or Championship) side in Cambridge United. My good mate Michael McClelland had studied in Oxford at the popular university for 3 years, and for some reason I had neglected to visit him, though I remember the story Mike once told of him going to watch Oxford United at the Manor Ground and seeing Northern Ireland player Phil Gray in action. Another fellow Northern Irish nutcase, Skin, had also studied at Oxford. Though sadly neither would be there on the day that SOENISC came to city. Oxford United had also in the intervening years moved to The Kassam Stadium, a three stand commercial football stadium, which was barely in Oxford to be honest. More like near a farm in the countryside. I had actually been to the Kassam Stadium before…strangely while living in Bournemouth I once decided to attend a job interview as a PR Officer for Travelodge near Oxford. After the job interview (which I didn’t get, didn’t probably suit, and wouldn’t have meant my destiny lay in the quirky Bite Communications had I of got) I decided to drive to the stadium to have a wee look. It was February 2006, back then, in fact almost exactly a year to the day before the SOENISC invasion of the same stadium. NOt that any of my pointless anecdotes ever add any value to my posts, my memory just oozes these things out of me, so…where was I?
Graham and I blocking the 8
In Dartford to be exact and waiting on a train to central London, where I would catch an excellent (every half an hour) bus service direct from Victoria to Oxford City Centre. I was really looking forward to it, Oxford a city of culture and knowledge.Me in green and of wisdom. I was on my own on that bus and the iPod tunes of Natalie Imbruglia, Manic Street Preachers and Van Morrison sent me north west to Oxford. We had all arranged to meet in a pub called “O’Neills.” That week I had also arranged for the Oxford Star newspaper to send down a journalist and photographer to cover the “story” of our visit. I bigged it up, and the four Oxford based residents were meant to bring the attendance to almost 15. In the end at the meeting time of 11.59 am, there were just THREE of us. This was myself, Graham Anderson and Luke Anderson. Sure enough there was the journalist from the Oxford paper with a proper camera. He said “where is everyone?” “This is it, right now, for now” I said, and then backed myself up by saying “the others are all stuck on a delayed train, which apparently went on fire!” This was true, as Simon and Scatt had been on this unfortunate train around Reading and were delayed. “Oh really” said the photographer/journalist “that’s odd cos that’s the story I’m off to cover and photograph next!” And there we had it, a story doubled, I could envisage the headlines “South of England NISC meeting delayed due to fire on train!” No matter what was to happen, the journalist had it away on his toes, and Graham, Luke and I searched for the first beer…in O’Neill’s as it had just opened.
The City of Oxford Turns Northern Irish! SOENISC at The University Derby – Oxford United v Cambridge United
Within a few minutes Alex “Isle of Wight” Army turned up with Beverley and there were five of us at the start of the meeting, which we then decided to delay until after the match and hold the official meeting at the Kassam Stadium. In the meantime we could relax with beers. Then the call from Sammy G came through and him and Chris had arrived at some other Irish bar nearby at a roundabout. On the way there I checked into our hostel for the night where the loudmouthed Ulstervoice of Squid shouted “Bout ye Jonny!” We checked in to the hostel, while Graham and Luke went to the other Irish pub to meet Sammy G. The meeting place was then changed to this Irish pub, namely the stupidly named “Rosie O’Grady’s” and once in there flegs went up, Caffrey’s was ordered and we tried to ignore the Irish trickler in the background. “Is that a 26 county fleg?” I mused…Then in came the SOENISC mafia of Scatt, Richboy and Simon, fresh from their train fire disaster. Everyone had missed their unique opportunity to appear in the Oxford City Star (or whatever) as my scoop of a wee article had gone abegging. Don’t tell me I don’t try hard with publicity, I’m the PR force behind this club and if we had 10 of us at the 12 noon photoshoot (the time we arranged to meet) then we’d have had yet another local newspaper article and a few idiotic quotes from yours truly. As we sipped Caffreys in Rosie O’Gradys, we realised that two of the guys were driving, meaning only one taxi, which the kitty would pay for anyway, to the ridiculously located Kassam Stadium, home of Oxford United FC.
The City of Oxford Turns Northern Irish! SOENISC at The University Derby – Oxford United v Cambridge United
We got there and parked, barely having time for a pre match pint in the wee bar as we got our tickets, a quick few club photies and a quick check of our wee piece in the match programme, before making our way to our seats for the big match. What a great stadium, and one that is too big to be in the conference in reality. Mind you if the team cannot perform on the pitch then this is what happens in football. We took our seats in the main stand and straight away (as we always do) put our SOENISC club fleg up. Graham and I attached it to two railings in an area with NO fans and NO advertising. Then ridiculously for no reason a steward ast us to take it down! Now holy fuck, but this had happenned the previous year at Ashton Gate, home of Bristol City FC (but we won the argument in the end), but to be told AGAIN and this time in a focking Conference stadium now haul on a minute…!!!! I wasn’t having any of it, would have rather walked out and caused a big fuss, as GUESTS OF OXFORD UNITED FC for the day, we were supporting THEIR team and we weren’t even allowed our club fleg up even for a minute and a wee photy. But wait till ye hear the reason why…it was because we blocked the “number 8.” That’s right, an emergency exit or muster point in the stadium was by the number 8 and we blocked it, even though Graham and I then deliberately sat in front of the number 8 to block it FOR THE WHOLE MATCH. I’d never been so disgusted by that treatment actually, and as chairman of a fairly decent bunch of crazy fun loving individuals, refused to take it down and then even just moved the fleg over a bit. When all that fuss calmed down, we could actually watch the match…
The City of Oxford Turns Northern Irish! SOENISC at The University Derby – Oxford United v Cambridge United
And cheer on Michael Corcoran. Chants began in the SOENISC end, such as “We can’t see the number 8,” “the steward is a wanker (from me only)” and “how do we pronounce yer name? (aimed at our confusion towards Mickey Corcoran name pronunciation)”. The banter was running well and by half time it was 1-1. I cannot remember who scored first. Aaron Reid from Reading had also joined the SOENISC for the day by this point. Even though we were supporting Oxford for the day, I had lost faith in them due to the eejit stewards, so we looked forward to a half time beer and I was very grateful for the assistance of PR guy Chris Williams, who met with us briefly on the day and also arranged the meeting with Jimmy Quinn and Darren Patterson after the match. Half time kitty money was spent on beers and we mingled with an Oxford United FC season ticket holder who was rightly annoyed at the performance and slump in his local football club. From the top tier to non league in 20 years…not good. The second half began and both teams pushed, to no avail. We noticed Jimmy Quinn the Cambridge boss doing quite a lot of shouting by the touchline, and just before the final whistle, Graham and I went down to “introduce ourselves” to him. Waving a scarf and fleg frantically we called “Jimmy!” and the big Belfast man acknowledged us before walking off happy with his team’s point. It finished a 1-1 draw, neither side really deserving a win in my opinion. Graham and I then got the boys and headed to the wee supporters bar which was in underneath the stadium, had no carpet, rather drab grey floor and walls and in honesty wasn’t really a great bar!
The City of Oxford Turns Northern Irish! SOENISC at The University Derby – Oxford United v Cambridge United
But I bumped into Chris Williams the PR guy on the way in and he said “Patto and Quinny will probably pop in and see you.” I was stood at the bar getting a round in when Darren Patterson walked in and met the SOE NISC. What a crackin lad! Darren was greeted with a “Darren Patterson, Da rren Patterson, Darren Patterson.” Darren then turned down a drink , even offered us all one and then went on to speak about al things Ulster, Oxford and SOE NISC! He also said “I just spoke to Jimmy and he’s gonna come out in a wee minute and talk till yousens.” And there he was, big Jimmy Quinn!!! Hero of Romania 1985, and indeed the guy who in front of my very eyes scored a screamer past Packie Bonner. As he walked in we sang, predictably I’m afraid “He’s tall, he’s thin, he looks like Jimmy Quinn, he’s Jimmy Quinn!” He spoke to us for a wee while and then hopped over to the bar. He also wore my hat ( a green hat my Dad had brought me back from Australia) for a photo. While he was away at the bar, talk from Sammy G turned to getting Jimmy Quinn in, spontaneously as SOE NISC honorary club president! What with negotiations of getting my former school mate and hot TV personality Zoe Salmon always uncertain, and with Zoe probably thinking we were all loonies or stalkers, we plunged the question on Jimmy Quinn for the day, asking him if he’d be our club president. He accepted, even shook my hand, gave a few autographs and in a non written way was suddenly our new club President. It was a nice gesture, and then as Jimmy and Darren weaved their way out from us green hallions and into the Oxford night (or indeed the Cambridge United FC bus) we had our proper ‘meeting’ of sorts before more booze and the location of the Angel and Childs pub in town was chosen, as the next pint location for the SOE NISC.
The City of Oxford Turns Northern Irish! SOENISC at The University Derby – Oxford United v Cambridge United
Once assembled in the Angel and Childs (I grabbed a greasey burger on route) we met an Irish lady and also Mrs. Richboy (the rather perky girlfriend of Richboy, Amy Blackmore). There were also some hot young English girls on the next table in this beautiful traditional pub unspoiled by commercialism or branding, it would appear. We enjoyed singing banter with them, and as Swindon fans they knew a few tunes. One of them was Welsh and I nicked their fleg for no reason. By this stage Graham and Luke, plus Sammy G and his son Chris had gone home. Scatt then suggested the wee pub across the road called The Lamb and Fleg might do the trick. We had our club fleg up in pubs all day. In there we met an Oxford student from Newry who was rather religious, but really enjoyed our craic. I don’t think he drank or swore. There were some English rugby fans in there and we enjoyed singing “Swing Low Sweet Northern Ireland” at them. I also started chatting up two young girls, who were about 17 and therefore underage for the bar. Simon spoiled this a wee bit, as did Squid by asking them for ID, soon they had dispersed into the night and my dreams of devirginising were gone for now. Not that I would eh?
As the night got darker, but not much colder we headed back onto the main streets, ending up back somehow in O’Neills which let us in with our Northern Ireland tops on and let us put the fleg up. We also got a lot of guys coming over to say “whats the craic here lads” and “fair play to you!” and then many girls wanted to join in the fun and there was further chance to flirt. Dressed in a green and white wig, I was very much up for the flirting, even if Guinness and Caffreys prevented my brain from understanding what was actually happenning. For some reason we all got lost at that point, and me still with the fleg assumed the lads would be in the Red Bridge Lounge (I think thats what it was called), so I paid a fiver to get in there, got a gin and tonic and looked for green people. Nobody in our club was in sight, so I was alone. I chatted up many and various Oxford girls, whose posh-ness and charm didn’t swamp me in, or perhaps my zaniness was my downfall. I’ll never know and I’ll never want to, as the night got so old, it was the day. Then I headed back to my hostel, only to find that SOENISC member Aaron Reid had nicked my bed and towel. So I kipped on the floor without a cover, there was no other option. I expected Aaron to pay me for that and he never did. I don’t normally keep friends like that, as a rule, so perhaps if Aaron ever reads this he’ll realise that he didn;t even book into the hostel, or book a room there, or tell us he was coming to the meeting, or even staying over. So he should have counted himself lucky to have had a place on the floor. Instead he nicked my bed without apology or money offered. Wise up!
Morning came and Richboy and I enjoyed the old Ulster Fry in the hostel, well without anything Northern Irish. Aaron dispersed into the morning first thing, but me, Simon and Scott ended up going to a wee French bar after a brief coffee breakfast. In that posh French bar we met a young barmaid called Cecilia who was gorgeous. I started singing the Simon and Garfunkel song “Cecilia” to her, how original as she walked past our table of testosterone and three beers. Simon and Scatt left shortly after that, while I decided to miss my bus, get a later one and have another beer with Cecilia. I did ask her out that day and she had a boyfriend sadly. It was a good effort and a great two days in Oxford. I then caught a bus back to London (at no extra cost for a later bus), where I had a few beers at The Atrium Bar on Strand (near Charing Cross), before retiring to Kent for some well needed sleep. That was Oxford, so it was…
Who was there – Jonny Blair, Graham Anderson, Luke Anderson, Squid Armstrong, Scott Gordon, Sammy Gordon, Chris Gordon, Simon McCully, Alex Higgins, Beverley Perrett, Richard Ingram (Richboy), Aaron Reid, Amy Blackmore (+1).
Who we met – Darren Patterson, Jimmy Quinn.
Bars Visited – O’Neill’s, Rosie O’Grady’s, Oxford United FC Bar, Half Time Kassam Stadium Bar, Angel and Childs, The Lamb and Fleg, Red Bridge Lounge (possibly), Cafe Rouge (where Cecilia worked)
December 2006 came round rather quickly and suddenly the South of England Northern Ireland Supporters Club were a year old, and as with a tradition that began a year earlier, we were off to Weymouth again, for what will forever be known as our WAGM (Weymouth Annual Green Meeting). The date was set as the second Saturday in December, as with the 2005 inaugural meeting. There would only be three survivors from that first meeting, but some new faces and a club a year older. I was living in the outer reaches of Dartford, Kent at the time. I got up early that Saturday morning for a walk then a train (from Belvedere or Slade Green, I don’t recall which) then a tube then another train, which actually took me straight from London Waterloo to Weymouth, where it all began.
The build up had been pretty immense to this meeting. I was chairman of the club for the first year and we couldn’t believe how well the club had done, taking over the Isle of Wight, an away trip to Denmark, meeting Maik Taylor, Damien Johnson and Sammy Clingan and getting some newspaper coverage. The Dorset Echo had kindly published a pre-WAGM article for us, I had spoke to journalist Ben Glass over the phone. We anticipated a cracking day out. On the train as we got to Basingstoke and Southampton there would be a few more of us. Richboy (Richard Ingram) brought a white cake, with some green colouring, so we dyed it and made our own SOENISC birthday cake on the train with a few tins of beer. The cake actually looked perfect if you check out the photos of it. Richboy assumed the nickname of “Ainsley” for the day, though we did consider whether Paul Rankin (Northern Ireland’s celebrity chef) was just as famous. As we neared Weymouth, my mate Mike and his girlfriend suddenly appeared. I forgot I had invited them to the WAGM! We weren’t going to be low in numbers that was for sure. On exiting the train looking as green as possible, we made our way, as we had done a year earlier down traditional English seaside town streets to the pub – Finns!! We had chosen Finns as the meeting place the year before because Finn McCoul was a famous Northern Irish giant. And we aimed to be a giant for Northern Ireland in the South of England. So we stumbled into Finns bar…
In Finns I introduced myself to the lovely bar staff. As ever they were most accomodating and our flegs went up on the wall as we got together for the meeting. This is where I first met El, a Larne man based in Weymouth who had by chance caught our article in the paper! Even though I hadn’t seen the article myself at the time, it proves that PR is a smart man’s advertising. We waited in Finns bar until everyone had arrived, this included Squid, Scatt, Graham Anderson and Tim Acheson. We had a total of 11 at the meeting, which almost doubled on the previous year’s WAGM total of just 6, the inaugural of the South of England NISC. That was pleasing, as was being voted chairman again for the next year, despite having 4 votes against and 6 votes for. To the four who voted against me (including Tim Beattie) I’m just wondering what their alternative was. I, for one, would have walked out of the club that day had I not been re-elected. Totally true!
Also discussed during the meeting was that we were going to Oxford and Weston Super Mare for the next two meetings, but the dates needed confirmed. Graham Anderson was elected Vice Chairman and Richard Ingram as Vice Secretary. Nothing else changed within the club ranks. Even the absent secretary Owen Millar maintained his position. By the end of the meeting we were slicing the cake, ordering more beers and pondering a move to the next bar. Before all that, I decided to go to The Dorothy Inn to book in for the night, as did a few others. I was pretty unargumentative at the time and let Graham Anderson sort out the bargaining for the cheap room. Once that was all sorted we continued to the traditional Black Dog pub on one of Weymouth’s cobbled pedestrian streets where some dinner and pintage was had. We watched the football results in there and also grabbed a local guy called Pete and made him an honorary Ulsterman for the day. A purple shirted Belfast man also came over “I member youse from last year!” he said and sure enough it was the same man. We had met this Belfast man in the same pub on the same day of the previous year. It was all good craic, and the singing started up again in there.
We had to leave as darkness was falling in order to get some photos on the beach and enjoy a kickabout. Squid brought his “Wellington, Somerset” fleg with him and we put the flegs up while a blackened Dorset faded a calmed SOENISC out of the sort of spot light that Michael Stipe relied on when pinning 1991 classic “Losing My Religion” (that folks, was a hit for REM). I was tired, but rejuvenated by the bouyancy of Scatt Gordon. Around this time, El and Tim Beattie also disappeared for the night and it was actually a very sombre if not sober time. The SOENISC had calmed down completely. The madness of Weymouth 2005 seemed a distant memory. However Scatt found us a way into the Duke of Edinburgh pub where I chatted up a 60 year old lady. I asked her politely if I could view her naked breasts, and as legend will have it…whilst sipping nonchalantly on a pint of lager, two massive boobs raised their way beyond a wooly jumper and right into my eyes. As Graham professed “ye weren’t expectin that were ye?” Certainly nat, they were dangly ones, which in their day would have provided most of Britian’s male residents with a boner. Just for now, my willy remained in the due south position. She was a bit old for me, and in honesty the shock of seeing them, which must have also been viewed by all other people in the bar was enough to make me liven up again for the night!
I’m a big fan of breasts, and ladies that show me theirs will always earn much more respect from me. THe worst thing that can happen is I tag them on popular website ‘Facebook.com.’ I remarked to this old lady how eloquent she had been in her art, while the landlady of the Duke of Edinburgh actually told us to remove our club fleg. At this point it was time to move on, and Scatt again sourced us the Baracuda Bar (formerly The Old Rectory, where we had been in the previous year) which let us all in in our Northern Ireland shirts. What was more was there were swarms of young ladies in there. We were just a football supporters club, we got more than we bargained for I think, newspaper headlines, free views of breasts in local bars and now hen parties staggering over to get their photographs took “just because you have a green wig on and look like fun.” We put our club fleg hanging over the balcony in there and Squid had brought some table mats for the table, which had the IFA badge on them, these were on our seats the previous year at the England away match in Old Trafford. We settled into the club and danced to many and various tunes, by now there were only about 7 of us…
In there I met Vicky and Amy, two locals girls and I did flirt outrageously with them, posing for photos and dancing stupidly. But again we wanted to head on somewhere else and I remember Richboy, Squid and I saying – lets have a quiet wee pint in Wetherspoons, which we did. I don’t remember who else was there in Wetherspoons, but we got past the bouncers with no hassle despite our green attire. We stood out from the crowd and attracted attention. In Wetherspoons there was still kitty money and I’m sure Mike and his girlfriend went back to the hotel at this point, leaving just 4 (?) of us out. I enjoyed a quiet bitter in there before following Scatt into the queue for the “Rendezvous” nightclub. In there I do have some stories to tell and I did manage to pull a young lady, however in the haziness of life and the movement of time being a constant enemy, I’m unwilling to reveal the details here. It’s a bit long winded and a strange time in my life when things didn’t happen for any reason. Either way I was knackered and feeling ill by 3 am when the club closed and Richboy would have found me fast asleep in the hotel room that very morning needing water, and he spared me some oranges to keep my fibre levels up. The second SOE NISC WAGM was over, it wasn’t as good as the first one the year before, and three of those faces (Owen Millar, Simon McCully, Alan “Rabster: The Bomber” Brown) were missing. Still, we were back and the SOE NISC could go into 2007 still smiling and still providing locals with sublime entertainment amidst naked breasts.
That morning I neglected breakfast and used to cold cold Weymouth sea air to chill my bones. I rested by the beach, walked along towards where the old big harbour provided me with a glimpse of the past: In 1989 I had been there, at the Sealink British Ferries terminal, where I caught the nightboat, the blue and white Earl Godwin to Cherbourg, on a family holiday. That memory came back, and later that day I would be meeting my Dad in London as he was over for a conference. I thought about my trip on the Earl Godwin quite a lot that day, and pictured myself as a quiet 9 year old sailing to France, thinking how totally bizarre that 17 years later I’d be at the same place somewhat bizarrely writing up an agenda for a meeting of people I had only met in the previous 12 months or so. Strange life this…
Then I dandered into a fancy dress shop by a corner. Originally I thought it to be a newsagents and I wanted a copy of the previous Thursday’s Dorset Echo, where the article on our supporters club (pictured here) appeared. However by chance in the fancy dress shop the lady working there said, “let me take your address, I have it in the house and I’ll post it to you.” Such a kind lady and true to her word she did, days later on arrival home from work, there was the entire Dorset Echo with our wee article in it. My visit to that fancy dress shop in Weymouth also produced a purchase from myself which would actually have an impact a few weeks later. I saw a “Frog Suit” for £18 it was green and yellow and looked nuts, so randomly I just bought it!! Then in Bite Communications (my then employer) a few weeks late we had a Christmas Fancy Dress day, and I dressed up in the frog suit for the entire day (including travel in to work and back) and suddenly had livened up the office a bit, a brought a more chaotic and true Jonny Scott Blair to my office job, where I often acted far too sensible in an attempt to fit in. There was no need anymore. I also bumped into Mike and his girlfriend in a £1 shop where we each bought a green Irish hat before getting a subway sandwich and leaving Weymouth behind for now. My train left Weymouth for Waterloo and I tried to doze before I would meet my Dad and then face another busy Monday morning scanning media coverage at Bite Communications.
Who went – Jonny Blair, Tim Beattie, Richard “Richboy” Ingram, Squid Armstrong, Scatt Gordon, Graham Anderson, Tim Acheson, Elwyn Craig, Mike and his girlfriend.
Bars we visited – Finns, The Black Dog, The Dorothy, The Duke of Edinburgh, Baracuda, Wetherspoons, Rendezvous.
Bizarre things happen every now and then. Certainly this time a few months ago, I had NEVER heard of the town of Fleetwood. Then, having started working on ferryboats recently and the fact that I often travel back to Northern Ireland, I decided to get the boat back this week for the Northern Ireland v. Czech Republic match (we drew 0-0 by the way) and when sizing up options on ferries home, I went for the Fleetwood – Larne route. The reasons for this were that it was a new route for me, the sailing times suited and I was also getting some discount on the strength of my Stena Line card, courtesy of my latest job as a ferry steward on Wightlink’s Lymington – Yarmouth route. So I was all booked onto the Fleetwood – Larne ferry and was looking forward to it. Fleetwood is a very traditional northern English coastal town (between Blackpool and Morecambe) on the west coast, facing into the Irish Sea. It has a pier, a beach and is one of the rare English towns to STILL have trams…
I had a bit of spare time to kill after driving from Stansted airport (having been in Bratislava) and so I arrived very early for the Monday morning 9 am boat from Fleetwood – Larne. I actually arrived on the Sunday night, and managed to change my booking to the 3 am morning sailing. Still, with time to kill and as darkness fell, I drove to the harbour, beach and pier to see what Fleetwood had to offer. Not much on a dark Sunday evening, but a calm cool breeze and a nice pier shone out at me. I took some photos, including one of the pier late at night and I also took a very short video clip. Little did I know that my photo and video could be the last ever of Fleetwood Pier as it was. On arrival back in Northern Ireland I was to learn that the next night (during the night) the pier at Fleetwood was totally destroyed in a fire. I was very surprised at the news, totally shocked and then just thought to myself that I had walked past the pier less than 30 hours before the fire and now it had been destroyed. It’s a funny world, and it all seems a bit surreal looking at the pictures of the enflaming pier.
Just a few months back Weston Super Mare pier burnt to its core in a similar fire,, one which I was appalled at, due to the fact that the fire brigade took HOURS to get there and then didn’t even make any decent attempt to put it out, and that’s what they are paid to do!! The same thing happenned at Fleetwood – they couldn’t put the fire out quick enough so its totally ruined. Even in this modern day, you would think these fires could be prevented, or at least put out when they begin. Still, its a chilling memory that I was there for the first time the last night the pier lasted. Perhaps my photo and video are the last taken before the pier at Fleetwood was ruined. The pier itself is by a main beach with ice cream huts and round the corner from the large and 3 star North Euston Hotel. While parked, I enquired about room prices for one person, a single room for the night and was astonished to find the cheapest was £70!! Really? In Fleetwood. I wouldn’t even have paid £70 for Fleetwood Mac for fuck sake. Though I didn’t need the room as Stena changed my ferry crossing to the 3 am anyway, I had just enquired in case.
Much better deals were to be had in the hotel bar, where I paid £1.90 for a very cheap bitter, which was nice. I had a few more hours to kill so I walked by the coast for a while and then drove back round the corner to the ferry terminal at Stena Line. A calm, cool breeze welcomed me on my walk. On my drive I was pleasantly surprised to be sandwiched in between trams and driving over tramlines. I love getting on trams, particularly in Eastern Europe where they are everywhere, but to see them in the UK is nice. Fleetwood is one of England’s surviving “tram towns”, there is a link tram to Blackpool from there. I didn’t have time to get on the trams and try them, but it seems like a lovely wee seaside town, still with its tradition. I also popped into Fleetwood’s oldest pub, The Victoria before getting a few hours sleep before the 3 am crossing to Larne in my native Northern Ireland. I’m actually travelling back the opposite way tomorrow as I do the afternoon Larne – Fleetwood sailing. Only this time, strangely and sadly the pier at Fleetwood will not be there, or at least not in its full glory that it was last Sunday. It’s a strange world sometimes…
Information On Fleetwood – Fleetwood is a town within the Wyre district of Lancashire, England, lying at the northwest corner of the Fylde. It has a population of 26,840 people as of the 2001 Census.[1] It forms part of the Greater Blackpool conurbation. The town was the first planned community of the Victorian era. For most of the twentieth century, Fleetwood was a prominent deep-sea fishing port, but, since the 1970s, the fishing industry has declined precipitously and the town has undergone economic difficulties. Fleetwood is also a seaside resort, serving as a quiet contrast to nearby Blackpool.
A VIDEO I TOOK BY FLEETWOOD PIER, last Sunday night, 30 hours before the fire:
I met Lock In Lee (Lee Adams) in December 2003 as we both auditioned to be in “The Lock In” (Bournemouth University’s Big Brother), where we both got voted into the house, lived with each other for 48 hours and then Lee won and I came third. Lee became one of my best mates and he is a massive Nottingham Forest fan. Things turned sour for Lee, when in 2005, once European Champions two years in a row, Nottingham Forest fell into the third division and would be nestled alongside mediocre teams such as Yeovil Town, and ahem, my team of choice, AFC Bournemouth. Suddenly Lee and I would be in seperate sides of the stadium at the same match. When we realised this we decided to do both games in the first season for Nottingham Forest in the third tier (at least for a long time). Most people assumed stupidly that Nottingham Forest would bounce straight back up and win the league, however they hadn’t bargained on the newly promoted and Freddy Eastwood inspired Southend United, who fired there way to a second consecutive promotion, playing some great football in the process. The pundits had also failed to recognise the free scoring Colchester United, who warped past most teams in the division to finish in second spot. All this meant Forest weren’t even good enough to make it into the play off places. As I once remarked to Lock In Lee during that season “this is your league now. enjoy it.” And I fucking bet he did! Another time I shall recount that season’s November home match with Nottingham Forest, where we drew 1-1 and by all accounts could’ve won it. This post is all about another fantastic AFC Bournemouth away trip…to Nottingham!
I didn’t often drive to Cherries away matches as I like to drink, so on this occassion on checking the bus and train prices, driving was the cheapest and easiest option, so I did it. The night before I had stayed with my mate Ben in Southampton and had managed “The Waves” (who at the time were the best band in the world) so I was on the piss the night before and then faced a drive via Dartford, Kent al the way to Nottingham. This was because none of my Bournemouth based mates (and at any rate I hadn’t met Dan Darch at this point, who would have went with me) were going, and I offered to pick up James and Neil. James and Neil had been waiting at a roundabout in Dartford for about 2 hours 44 minutes. I had woken up at 10 am and somehow bombed it up the M27, M3 and then M25 to meet them, probably just before midday. Once in the car, James put his iPod on (it was the first time I’d seen an iPod; I now own one and love them!) and we were pumping up towards Nottingham to watch the Cherries and meet Lock In Lee!!
All I remember about the drive up was that we were all pretty tired and hungover and that I stopped for fuel near Milton Keynes somewhere. We were running late as it was, I then had to find the stadium, a decent parking space and make it to the ground before kick off. Lucky I had the tickets already then! At the time AFC Bournemouth were down at the bottom of the league and a draw was likely to be enough on the day to secure staying up for another season. Forest were on form though and the overdog for the day. It was AFC Bournemouth’s first trip to the County Ground, Nottingham for years and years and probably decades, and I was there, or almost as my car torpedo-ed itself along the M6. As we approached Nottingham it was almost 3 pm, so we had to admit defeat in missing the start of the match, and indeed a pre match pint. However as we drove past the City Ground, it was like 3.01 pm or something, then we had to find a parking space…
We crossed the river Trent, passing even Notts County’s ‘Meadow Lane’ on the way and managed to find a space in a retail park, which was no charge and also a maximum stay of 2 hours. We were risking it, but we didn’t want to miss any of the match. Neil, James and I ran quickly across the bridge by the river Trent and straight into the away end at Nottingham Forest FC. The match was still 0-0 and we took front row seats as we watched the Cherries (dressed in navy blue for the day) battle it out until a half time stalemate. We were right in the thick of the action, in a fantastic stadium, with great atmosphere and craic “Are you Derby in disguise?” was the chant to the Forest faithful, who welcomingly DIDN’T pour beer down on us, from their higher tier in the corner of the big stadium. I had texted Lock In Lee and we gave chants of “Can we hear Lock In Lee?” To be honest he wouldn’t have heard us, such was the atmosphere that day. We needed a win or a point to stay up, they had to win to fluke any chance of still making the final play off spot. The ground was full, the English sun was beating down and Neil and I wanted a half time pint, even if it was shit Carling in a shit plastic glass. This is British football league, and this is a cultured Saturday.
I think James and Neil joined the pint queue, while I got us the match programmes, which I often get on away matches, but not always at home, it gets too costly really. At half time we did indeed learn that as things stood we would be staying up, I met a few Cherry regulars at half time. Loud Nonny was there as was Paul the Loyalist and many pissed up Cherries fans in what was a party atmosphere. As Neil, James and I finished our pints, we had now managed to miss the start of the SECOND half as well, so really it was a madly rushed and hectic schedule of a day. Normally nothing would divert me from the 90 minutes of football. A loud cheer went up just after 4 pm and you know what, Steve Fletcher had scored for the Cherries!!! We went 1-0 up at Nottingham Forest in a crackin atmosphere. We made it back into the stands for the goal celebrations and as things calmed down, Forest began on the attack again, so much so that an equaliser was on the cards. And then it came…
It was 1-1 and a nervous final few minutes saw Neil Moss save us a few times and we clung on for the point and the third division status. It was a great match and a great day out. No trouble, some sunshine, some beer, terrible drive, missed our goal, but then there was Lock In Lee to meet!!! And he wasn’t hard to spot with his mohican hairstyle we met up with Lock In Lee outside the City Ground, we dandered across the bridge to the Notts County stadium, where I posed with my Northern Ireland hat for a photo by Meadow Lane, before deciding a quick pint was in order before heading back to my car and departing ways. We didn’t get to see much of Nottingham (and indeed last week, I managed to miss our trip to Notts County v. AFC Bournemouth, but Lock In Lee and Ian Cupples (his mate who we met that day) took us to Hooters Bar, where ladies get their boobs out. Well they don’t but we can stare at them and wish. Me and Lock In Lee “love boobs” as we once told two Czech Republic girls. Unfortunately Hooters wouldn’t let us in with football tops on, so we had to make do with a pint in the posh bar of an even more posh hotel. Hilarious! And just the sort of place Lock In Lee and I fit in! The lads enjoyed a few beers in there, before we headed back to my car for the drive home to Bournemouth. On arrival at my car, James had stupidly left the passenger door open (in the rush not to miss the match!) and in the crime capital of Nottingham, nothing had been stolen. I was grateful for that, though next time I go to Nottingham, me and Lock In Lee will be on the piss together and his football team are now two divisions above. You get what you want out of life. But you fucking like what you get. Here’s to the next one!
Who was there – Jonny Blair, Neil Macey, James Condron, Lock In Lee, Ian Cupples.
Final Score – Nottingham Forest 1-1 AFC Bournemouth.
Football Stadiums Visited – Meadow Lane, City Ground.
Thirsty Thursdays: Poole Pub Crawl, England, August 2004
It was a quiet Monday evening in mid-August 2004. I was living with Neil, Jody and Austin on the Holdenhurst Road in Bournemouth. It was quite rare that we would all have the same night off, so when we did we normally would go into town, go to the football or go to the pub together…and on this one night we originally thought we would do a bar crawl via a train to Southampton. On arrival at Bournemouth train station, we changed our minds and so the “Poole Pub Crawl” was created. There were three of us, just, Jody, myself and Neil.
A stupid trip on the train involved sitting in first class and not buying tickets whilst also putting our heads out the windows to get a waft of the cool cool dorset air as we passed from Bournemouth through Branksome through Parkstone and then arrived at Poole train station in search of alcoholic places. If a song had to be played on that train it was “teenage angst” by Nirvana, even though none of us were actually teenage, or knew what Angst meant. Is that a real word?
First bar we found was The Antelope on the main Pedestrian Precinct. So we popped in there and in the summer rain drank bitter under the umbrellas of a beer garden, which is not an oxymoron as we did drink beer in the garden, even if the weather tried to force us indoors. Another venture and we were again in a pub on the main street this time THE PUB NAME NEEDS ENTERED where more bitter/lager/cider was consumed on the second bar in a pub crawl where no bars were busy and the alcohol and jokes flowed. As I remember there was no football on the TV to distract us from our drinking and so we continued with a beer in the (usually avoided) Yateses.
Yateses was a quick stop before the bright red Hog’s Head stood out at us on a street corner. In there another bit of pintage had to be done as we remarked on the friendliness of Poole’s pubs and the total lack of commercialisation which is more prevelant in Bournemouth (Poole and Bournemouth are not sexually related, though could be brothers). The deal was just one pint in each pub, and we tried to remember to take photos in each one as well to add to the memory (4 years on I’m glad of it I tell you).
It was starting to get dark and we contemplated just getting the next train or bus back to Bournemouth and having another few beers there. However the point was it was a POOLE pub crawl so we decided against that idea and just ended up staying in Poole, and heading towards the seafront/marina/harbour which is constantly referred to as Poole Quay. On the way there was a wee pub on the corner which I’m sure has disappeared. The pub was called The Water’s Edge and the barman looked Gay. Well according to Jody he “looked gay.” Mind you he did wear a black string vest and spoke a bit camply as we ordered three beers at the unbusy bar. We’d actually turned up at a gay bar, but none of us seemed to mind as it was to be a quick beer stop then on to the next one. No time for milling around on a lads Poole Pub Crawl in August 2004. Although Jody did persist in being photographed beside the gay guy, the smile on his face tells it all, he was happy to get the photo took. Why, I’ll never know, that’s just Jody!
On exiting The Water’s Edge we popped into the Oyster Quay (or as I used to call it “Fish In The Wall”) where we watched live fish float by our pints as we aged ourselves drunkenly into the boatful skyline of Poole. In Poole I often gaze at the water in search of answers to questions in my mind. On this particular night the only questions were “which pub next?” and the answer was always easy – THE NEXT ONE. And along Poole Quay, it was normally next door…
Up next was The Portsmouth Hoy, which definitely wasn’t in Portsmouth and we’re not sure if it was “hoy” or not. What I do remember is there was no toilet. Like in Pirate times we had to leave the pub and piss round the side. It was a traditional cosy wee pub again gaping across at sailors in the harbour and oversized females sipping beers which were by no means their first of the day. Nor were ours and by this stage we were all drunk and the talk couldn’t have been sensible. All three of us were due in work the next morning at 9 am, but nobody cared, we were staying in Poole till the pubs/bars shut.
The Lord Nelson pub was next, it was also on the Quay and it was now nearing last orders so we had to consider options at this point. Walking home would have taken about 1.5 hours, the last train had gone, the last bus was due to leave soon and so we thought “well fuck it, if we’re going to have to split three ways and get a taxi home, so be it.” I hate getting taxis – they’re far too dear and taxi drivers usually don’t even want to listen till me. I’ll talk to them about anything.
By the time we had sank the pint in The Lord Nelson, we dandered back on till the main pedestrian precinct in Poole where a shining light of a wee pub deliberately (in the days before 24 hour bars) shone on us and invited us in – it was a 12 midnight closing unlike the other pubs which were all 11 pm last orders. We had been drinking for about 5 hours or so and had visited 6 pubs, so number 7 was this little gem, where astonishingly we were sober enough to play pool in. Or perhaps not, as I don’t remember it. In there I necked a Blue Curacao and lemonade which used to be my tipple, I haven’t had one of them for years now!!! (In fact this one in Poole was probably my last) and before deciding on a taxi home, there was time for one last bar on the Poole jaunt – Chili’s!
At the time I’m near sure that Chili’s was Poole’s only nightclub, it was open till 2 am, so we drank more beer in there and also moved onto those Chocolate Mudshakes, which seemed to be a fad. A craze at the time, another drink I haven’t seen for years. I could add these to my list of SMIRNOFF MULE and HUSKY’S CLEAR!!! Whatever happenned to Husky’s Clear? What an amazing teenage drink! Anyhow we drank in Chili’s and did chill out until it closed by which time, we scraped together the money for a taxi home to Bournemouth and all made it safely (even if hungover) into work the next day. What a great pub crawl, and on a random night back in August 2004. I’d recommend Poole for a pub crawl any day. Pint in each. These photos here will help fuel the memory…
Who went – Jonny Blair, Neil Macey, Jody Casey.
Pubs Visited – The Antelope, PUB2, Yateses, The Hog’s Head, The Water’s Edge, The Oyster Quay, The Portsmouth Hoy, The Lord Nelson, PUB9, Chili’s.
It all reached a very very surreal peak when I led the troops of the South of England Northern Ireland Supporters Club all the way to the Isle of Wight in the first year of my chairmanship of the club. It may just sound like we fancied a party on the island, but the story of the trip will forever live long in the memory of those privileged enough to attend that weekend. We thought, at the time it would be a “peak” for the club in only its 11th month in official status, but little did we know of the perils in Oxford, Weston Super Mare and Gillingham to follow the next year. So why the fuck did the South of England Northern Ireland Supporters Club hold a meeting on the Isle of Wight in November 2006??
WE cast our minds back to a busy Southampton airport and my pint of Carling in December 2005. As a south of England based resident I often enjoy trips back to Northern Ireland to visit family and friends. On this particular morning I was with my good mate Jody Casey for a very early flight, where I would show my mates Jody, Neil Macey and James Condron my home patch of Bangor and Belfast in Northern Ireland. The trip was pre-booked but an extra twist was added in when Northern Ireland LEGEND George Best died the week before, by complete coincidence I would be in Belfast the day of his funeral!! And there like a gift of fate from the heavens was an Alex Higgins…No not the snooker player Alex Higgins, but a man with a beard and a George Best T-Shirt who was in front of me as I went to the departure lounge to board the flight from Southampton to Belfast City airport (now ironically and beautifully named “The George Best Airport.”). Alex was queueing for the flight as well, but who was this man?
On speaking to him, it became obvious he was a massive George Best fan. Doing a fellow human a favour was always something I enjoyed, and this morning I thought – I’ll tell Alex where George Best grew up, as my Granny still lived round the corner for Dickie Best’s house in Burren Way in the Cregagh Estate in East Belfast. My Granny lives at Drumragh End, only a school and a square to play football on separates my Granny from the place George Best grew up. Alex said that he had NEVER been to Northern Ireland and was simply going to pay his respects to his LEGEND IDOL and HERO. I was enthused and impressed and popped him my mobile number and e-mail address, saying “I’m the chairman of the South of England Northern Ireland Supporters Club. Come along anytime, and join us for a drink. The boys would love it.” I also asked where he was from and what his link to Northern Ireland was. It turned out he was from the Isle of Wight, and dated a lady from Helen’s Bay (one of Northern Ireland’s posher haunts). A story was building itself here, a chance meeting at an airport and fate had leant my life and others a bonus hand. If that chance meeting hadn’t happenned, neither would the meeting on the Isle of Wight, or indeed this post.
Before I launch into the whole Isle of Wight meeting, there was also the sublime moment in an East Belfast pub the day I met Alex Higgins. At the airport in Southampton after we swapped numbers I invited him to the Crown Bar in Belfast for a pint, as me and my mates were going there and there he was – he turned up! Then in the East Belfast pub (of which I bizarrely forget the name) later we happenned to glance at Sky Sports News and there was Alex Higgins who we had met that very morning, being interviewed on his thoughts on George Best, directly from the Cregagh Estate and George Best’s house. Even I had influenced the media on that occassion, and if you can’t work out why, read again!
So Alex then joined the club, bought a Northern Ireland shirt and turned up at every meeting, including playing for the South of England NISC in their first ever public football appearance (a Mainland NISCs 5 a sides in Manchester), until the thought and possibility came up…why don’t we have a meeting on the Isle of Wight? The answer was a straight yes and I took pride in making the first steps in what became a historic day for the club. Suddenly we had members wishing to attend the most random of meetings on the Isle of Wight. Availability for committee members was checked and we finally agreed on the date: Saturday 4th November 2006. I was working in PR at the time and saw the opportunity to gain some publicity for the club. It would be along the lines of changing the name of the island for the day. No longer was this the Isle of Wight, we were nutcases and we were changing it to the Isle of Green. The publicity on this stretched from simple comments of the Our Wee Country Northern Ireland fans forum to a preview article on The Isle of Wight Beacon (“All that’s good on the island”) to the Ireland’s Saturday Night (The Pink, The Ulster). The scene was set, the meeting place of The Painters Arms in Cowes was announced and suddenly we were on the brink of madness, hardly for the first time in my life.
The weekend began for me on the Friday night. I finshed work in Bite Communications after a busy week and Owen Millar (club secretary) got a bus/train down to visit me from his new abode in Manchester. I arrived at the Shakespeare Pub in Victoria, where a cultured Owen Millar bought me a pint as we wasted shit loads of money on “the millionaire machine.” We drank quite a lot and later on the train home to my place in Dartford, Owen played Live Forever on a guitar owned by the fit lead singer of a band called “The Veez.” I love spontaneity in life and this was to be one. The next morning we would be up early and head for a train, then a tube, then a train in order to get to Southsea, by Portsmouth, where we would get a “Party Hovercraft” to Ryde on the Isle of Wight. My housemate John joined us for the trip, as he is nuts and has actually now been to THREE SOENISC meetings!
The train on the way from Waterloo – Southsea (Portsmouth Harbour) was where we met Scotland fan Ed Broussard, who was one of Tim Beattie’s mates (Tim being club treasurer of the SOENISC) and was joining us for the day for the craic! It was sure to be a mad one. I opened a tin of beer on the train and we had begun the drinking fest already. We’re Northern Irish. We drink beer. That’s what we do. I also opened my party bag which contained many and numerous green items which would assist in our changing of the colour of the island from Wight to Green for the day. OK, it’s not Wight as in colour white, but the jokes is lost on you if you don’t pretend it isn;t as funny as it is. These random items included a green sieve, a green and white “Santa Stop Here” sign (one month too early), green sunglasses, green feather dusters, green wigs and hats and many other things which you wouldn’t believe a supporters club chairman would bring to a meeting. For something to be unbelieveable, you have to make people believe it. Really. No really.
After some random chat and beer on the Waterloo – Southsea train, we alighted and headed in search of the Hovercraft Terminal. The walk turned out to be longer than we thought, but soon we had paid about £14 each for a return on the Hovercraft, getting the obligatory photo of our supporters club fleg by the method of transport, and then cranking open another tin of beer as we cruised the waves cleverly on route to the island. I had never been to the Isle of Wight before and we enjoyed the views as we neared Ryde. On exiting at Ryde, the place was shrouded in November sunshine, and we were destined for Cowes. There is only one train system on the Isle of Wight and I think this covers the Ryde – Shanklin route, therefore not even passing through Cowes, or indeed the capital of the Island, which is Newport. So there was Owen, me, Ed and John with beer on the Isle of Green and we were looking to get to Cowes. A taxi is normally my last ever means of transport, but divided between 4 it was a gift at less than £15, so we got a photo by the railway track and bridge, and boarded a taxi (my fifth different mode of transport for the day). The taxi left us at the picturesque East Cowes, where a narrow river met the land in what looked like scenery out of a filim, or even somewhere like a down market Venice. The taxi driver said you can get a chain ferry to West Cowes, which is where the Painters Arms pub was. Soon we were boarded a lovely party chain ferry on route to Cross Street. It was all very surreal and there was us four dressed in green, attracting attention.
On the chain ferry we met some Cowes residents who actually get the (free) chain ferry every day going to work. What an interesting lifestyle. We also got in touch with some of the fellow SOE NISC members to see how they were getting on (we all took different routes, some via Southampton, Lymington and Portsmouth) and whether the meeting time of 11.58 am would be made. We dandered through the quiet Cowes street until at the bottom of a hill the black signage of “The Painters Arms” brushed up at us in our green taps. We were the first four people to arrive. The pub had just opened and we perched ourselves down on seats and started putting flegs up and turning the pub green, I remember saying to the bar lady, Mez Blackwell, “Did anyone tell you that there were a load of Northern Irish lads coming to the pub today?” She knew about it, not just through Alex Higgins, but the full swing publicity campaign had alerted the locals of our presence. Soon Richboy (Richard Ingram) had arrived in usual green attire and me and the Rich started the kitty for the drinks, which would actually last us almost all say in the end. It was going to be a long one, and I remember pacing myself a wee bit at the start.
Within 30 minutes we had been joined by special guest and author, Shaun Schofield (who wrote the book “There’s Always One” on following Northern Ireland). I had invited Shaun to the meeting, and was really impressed and surprised that he made it, I mean holding a Northern Ireland Supporters Club meeting on the largest island in England was hardly sensible was it? Also on Shaun’s Red Funnel ferry was Scott Gordon (Club Charity President), journalist Marshall Gillespie and his son Calum. What a fantastic turnout already. Scott had arrived via a sign reading TOKOGAWA where a mandatory photo was taken, as GAWA in our case stands for Green and White Army. Just as it looked like the pub couldn’t get any greener in walked the host himself Mr. Alex “Isle of Wight Army” Higgins with his girlfriend Beverley, and then in came Tim Beattie with his English mate Leggo (sporting a 1997 vintage Norn Iron tap for the day). That wasn’t the full turnout however as there was Nat and another lad (2 of Owen’s mates), plus Carlo Bell (an English/Italian wannabe Northern Ireland fan!) so the turnout was incredible for a club who hadn’t even been in existence for a year. We all got our beers and chilled out for a bit before starting the official meeting, with members participation.
Random items of the day had been provided mainly by myself and Scott, who had constructed his own a4 pages with the words “Isle of Green” and “Our Wee Island” on them, including photos of the Isle of Wight. Richboy and me attached these to the door of the pub and on the nearby street to alert any locals and we would have happily welcomed anyone to our meeting. The craic was fantastic and soon I began to chair the meeting, standing up wearing a Viking Helmet (not sure where it came from!) and letting Alex introduce the island and Shaun give a riveting heart warming speech about his book, of which he sold many copies that day, and all to a good cause.
The speeches and the meeting all ran as smoothly and with as much comedy as ever and some group photos were then taken while Richboy and I continued to put posters up everywhere, including on two pillars outside the pub. The Painters Arms pub itself was tiny, dingy and dark. Just the perfect place really for our wee meeting. Soon the locals were flocking into the pub, and strangely none of them complained one bit!! We were the talk of the town. I also asked Mez the barmaid if it was OK to put our CD on, which was a special NI compilation. This was great for the banter and we ordered more and more beer while the first live football match of the day came on. Mez even provided us with a raffle (where I won some brown candles…!) and free hotdogs. Where would you get this sort of welcome? We had started singing already, and even did a song of tribute to Mez, “Stand up if you all love Mez”, the memories of this chant came back only recently when I heard of her unfortunate death from cancer. A sad sad world we live in, and a brilliant lady who made us feel so welcome, as eejitiotic as we were.
Owen was mad keen to watch the Man United match at 3 pm and as The Painters Arms didn’t show it, and we were in danger of spending the entire day in one pub, we decided to move on from The Painters Arms, but promised to pop back later, before the night of clubbing. Tim Beattie at this point, pointed out that there were actual Painters in the Painters Arms, which inspired a new chant of “There’s Painters in the Painters arms, Painters Arms, Painters Arms” to the tune of that song about Klingon’s on the starboard bow. In a boating town, in a pub named after artists, we were certainly keeping things afloat and making an impression. AS we dandered down the high street we found a pub whose name I forget and was stationed on the cobble stoned high street on a corner near The Fountain Hotel (where some of us would stay that night). The day had started with some comparison contests, including everytime we saw someone with a beard, we would line them up beside Alex Higgins (our member with a beard) and then I would ask the entire club to vote on who has a better beard. To add to the lunacy of this, the vote was always fixed, Alex’s beard was always voted the worst, much to the delight of Howard (pronounced Hard) in the pub, who we sang “Howard has a better beard…” to. Soon the song changed to “We’ve drunk them out of Fosters!” as Tim Beattie announced the keg change required to maintain our club’s alcohol requirements. There were about 12 of us, though by mid-afternoon some had left the island due to other commitments. Shaun Schofield, Marshall and Calum were away after having contributed to what was already becoming an incredible day out. In that pub, where we drank them out of Foster’s Richboy and I noticed a group of girls wearing green so we sang “stand up if you’re wearing green!” at them until they stood up and gasped in disbelief at our range of singing poems. Soon though a group of England “fans” in the pub thought they would wind us up…
Following an impressive SOENISC chant of “We’re Not Brazil, We’re Northern Ireland”, these England fans all stood up to attention and started singing “God Save Our Queen.” They were obviously completely unaware that this song was ALSO our national anthem, maybe they were unaware of the two countries and the divide on the island of Ireland? Whatever inspired them to sing that, we’ll never know, but as soon as they started singing it, all of us stood up and joined in as loudly as we could, making them look totally bewildered, confused and tongue-sunk. Once we had finished the anthem they started we all launched into a “Same National Anthem, we’ve got the same National Anthem” tune, which was the funniest period of chanting I’ve ever heard. Ask anyone who was there in that wee pub that day. WE had amused the entire pub, and got English people on the patriotic Isle of Wight confused over their identity and in awe of a bunch of drunk Northern Irish guys. “Thanks for having us in for a pint, we are the South of England NISC” I said to one of them as we exited the pub and dandered for a quick look at the harbour, where a sun glanced over yachts none of us could afford.
The next pub I remember, was The Waterside and it had great views. We drank and ate in there, getting a window seat and table and putting our fleg up over the harbour. By this point Beverley Perrett (Alex’s girlfriend) had joined us and we were chilling out away from the madness of the previous two pubs. At this point some of us checked into our accomodation for the night and in mine, John’s, Owen’s and Richboy’s case we booked ours, with The Fountain Hotel being chosen. I almost forgot a genius moment however,,,before all of this and before we left the Painters Arms pub for the first time, a man looking like Colin Murray (Belfast Radio One DJ and self confessed Northern Irish lunatic) walked in. The chants at this point somewhat took him aback, unaware of the party nature of the SOE NISC, we sang “One Colin Murray”, “Colin Murray; On the Isle of Wight”, “Colin give us a song” and “Are you Colin Murray in disguise?” His name was Ed and he ended up joining in with us the rest of the day. A top man, any person could have taken offence to the singing if they were shallower minded, but he loved it!
About an hour later and everyone was quite refreshed and ready for what Tim Beattie refers to as “second wind.” I understand what he means, but not why he uses that term. Then a bunch of sailor types walked in and the girls swarmed around me and Richboy. I tried to chat one of them up, and she was Nicki from Kent. “I live in Kent too” said I as she asked to borrow my hats and scarves for photos which her mates took, including one where she squeezed my genitalia, probably an unknown story to the others that were in the pub at the time. “Did you like that?” She said nonchalantly “I always wanted to squeeze and Irish willy”, I was quite startled, and also actually pleased, it was a chat up line (and squeeze) and I don’t get many of those. She disappeared into the night with her mates soon after, one of which was a posh spoilt schoolboy, who stole my “Santa Stop Here” sign and whose retort to “We’re Not Ireland, We’re Northern Ireland” was “we own you.” I often wondered what inspired Nicky to do that to me, and indeed why it all happened in the blink of an eye and indeed why our paths crossed for two minutes and we’ll never meet again. Noel Gallagher hit the nail on the pint of beer when he said “you don’t get; you won’t get; what you need; life is a strange thing.”
Tim and Leggo had begun a wee conversation over by the window and I could see a cheeky school kid grin on Beattie’s face, as he walked over to me and said “wait till ye hear this.” It had to be something goo or I wouldn’t have listened, he goes “see that couple on that table over there having a romantic meal?” “Aye I said”, Tim continued “let’s sing then a song…” Getting my digital camera on video mode and forming a line, the members of the SOE NISC were informed of the chant due to begin, and soon I started filiming (video below) as we walked round and round their table (a young couple enjoying a romantic meal by the harbour) singing “Propose in a minute, he’s gonna propose in a minute…” It was true comedy and the embarrasment on the lad’s face was met by a teasing smile from his other half as we left our empty pint glasses and departed our third pub of the day. It was all going very fast…
Another walk by the harbour and Scott found a more traditional wee pub called The Union Inn. We popped in there and got our own wee table at the back, where’s there were some adverts for Irish Whiskey and some friendly locals. At this point we were all chilling though a few more chants were started in there, as my housemate John started going a bit mental and chatting away to my supporters club mates. This wee pub hit the spot. “What’s the occasion?” asked the landlord to me as I sipped on my lager. “Life” was my abrupt and obvious reply.
At this point Owen’s islander mate Nat had arrived and was wearing a green Halifax Town shirt. For the entire day the Isle of Wight was blatantly the Isle of Green. Everyone was actually a bit tired and weary so we decided it was essential to liven up spirits and those regulars in The Painters Arms by walking back into the pub where it all began. The pub was packed at this point and my CD stole the jukebox show. We didn’t even care that we had to pay to put OUR OWN SONGS on. It was worth it as Tim Beattie stood by the Dukebox, we sang “You’re paying for your own music!” at him. Soon the laughs were on me as my self recorded songs such as “Northern Ireland South of England Army” blurted out on a Saturday night in a local pub in Cowes. Bemused locals looked so confused as Richboy stated “that’s Jonny singing on the toilet.” I didn’t actually sing them on the toilet for the record.
More and more comedy continued in here including the first ever Isle of Wight SOE NISC Gay Disco. We all tok our tops off and danced around the pub like maniacs. The flegs were up again and some locals chatted to us as we explained all about ourselves and drank yet more local brew, or indeed Fosters. I did sample one local ale that day, the rest was your usual lager shite. More songs continued on the dukebox, ans some strange chants had developed during the day. One lad in a previous pub had said “do you want to see my testicles?” and we hit back with a “we don’t want to see your testicles”, so as Alex Higgins and Beverley got cosy on the seats we sang this to Alex, a recording of which survives on a video below. A video of us singing our new-ish song “Swing Low Sweet Northern Ireland” also appears on video. Earlier that day Shaun Schofield, while doing his speech on his book, said “I have been to many Northern Ireland matches and supporters club meetings, but this supporters club are by far the craziest Northern Ireland Supporters Club I’ve ever seen.” Great words from a great man, and we were living up to this expectation.
Alex Higgins had prepared a night club for us, across the way, which would stay open till 2 am, and he had booked the upstairs and a DJ, and karaoke and everything. In fact I don’t think we have ever thanked Alex enough for his organisation of the day. From meeting in the Painters Arms to the karaoke, everything was as good as it could have been. So we spent a bit more time in the Painters Arms before heading to the Club. Before we left the Painters Arms we said our thankyous and goodbyes to everyone in there, and even laughed at Scott Gordon who had ordered a HALF pint of Lager “What the fucking hell is that?” we sang at him!!
The club was £2 entry or something and we had the whole upstairs to entertain ourselves in. The bar was downstairs but we could take all the drink upstairs, and there was karaoke ready to go, a DJ to play any requests, a pool table and plenty of space for the flegs to go up. We soon filled the dancefloor and Owen Millar and myself made a total hash and shambles of some UK chart classics. “I butchered Lucky Man” revealed Owen after his poor attempt to sing like Richard Ashcroft for four minutes in a Cowes nightclub. “I only sing Common People cos I want to be one” said Jonny Blair after a woeful performance of the Pulp classic in the club. And this was the club chairman and secretary!! TO add to the comedy, both videos were recorded and are now on display below for your un amusement. Just check out the laughs we both get from the lively Cowes audience. That’s why we’re not pop stars.
As we continued to dominate proceedings in the wee club, we filled the dancefloor with green and the DJ played whatever hits we wanted, it even culminated with me joining Tim Beattie for an embarrassing duet of Take That’s “Back For Good.” Despite my closeness to Tim, I hope never to have his lipstick marks still on my coffee cup. Before this we had Owen’s mate Carlo on vocals singing “Don’t You Want Me Baby?” We all agreed that Carlo’s performance was indeed the best of the night, at least he could sing a bit. A few songs later and we were doing a “gay disco” in the club. If you check the photos on this blog post, you will notice how many NON – SOENISC members actually got their kit off for the “Gay Disco.” A shocking amount of testosterone was on view for those Cowes ladies lurking nearby. Even Ed “Colin Murray” Gladdis got his top off. I think this was probably the beginning of the end for the “gay disco” within SOENISC, it really isn’t healthy or cool any more. Soon we noticed that the host himself Alex IOW Army Higgins had called it a night as he had overdosed on the old booze like the resty us.
At this point, Owen, Richboy and I headed back to the Fountain Hotel up and down hilly back streets, at one point Tim will recall me streaking down a hill for no reason whatsoever other than drunken idiocy. Me and Richboy had pre-ordered a beer but it was all locked up and we had lost our final chance of alcohol before sleep allowed our weary eyes and heads to recover once again. It took a while…
At breakfast the next morning we all had a fry and a lovely cup of tea. Key quote came from Owen Millar, who when looking at my photies said “that picture is a total disgrace!!” It was a photy of the “gay disco” and as Owen remarked “only about 3 people in that are actually SOENISC members. If we needed proof that we had turned the island green for the day, that was probably it. The day will never ever be forgotten, we appeared in the ISN and on the IOW Beacon the following week, and had made some impression on the locals. Recently Mez Blackwell the barmaid, lost her fight with cancer and Ed “Colin Murray” Gladdis fittingly placed a Northern Ireland scarf by the pub with the tribute to a wonderful lady. These are just the memories, and those who were there will remember the day that the South of England Northern Ireland Supporters Club re-named the island “THE ISLE OF GREEN.” I don’t even remember (or need to remember) the journey home…
The Isle of Wight Beacon Article read like this:
Cowes
Northern Irish fans paint the town green
07-Nov-2006
The Isle of Wight was dubbed “The Isle of Green” and turned into “Our Wee Island” by a travelling contingent of Northern Irish football fans on Saturday 4th November 2006. Starting off in The Painter’s Arms at 10.44 am, the green and white army enjoyed banter with the locals, a fun day out and enjoyed drinking long into the night. A collection was made by Club Charity President Scott Gordon, which will be donated to a charity of choice on the Isle of Wight by The South of England Northern Ireland Supporters Club. The final donation amount and chosen charity have still to be clarified.
The event on Saturday was hosted by Alex Higgins, an Isle of Wight resident and committee member of the South of England club. Club chairman Jonny Blair made the following comments about the club’s trip to the island:
“We absolutely loved it. The island itself was beautiful, the people most welcoming and the beer most certainly met our taste specifications. Although at times we experienced “lager confusion” due to the excessive quantity consumed. We are proud to add the Isle of Wight to our list of meeting locations and this event will be remembered for a long time.”
The South of England NISC would like to thank the entire island for making this a fantastic day out.
SOME YOU TUBE VIDEOS:
EAST – WEST COWES CHAIN FERRY introduced by Scott Gordon:
SWING LOW SWEET NORTHERN IRELAND live in the Painters Arms pub:
WE DON’T WANT TO SEE YOUR TESTICLES live in the Painters Arms pub:
PROPOSE IN A MINUTE, aimed at a couple enjoying a quiet romantic meal in the Waterside Bar:
THE ISLE OF WIGHT IS THE ISLE OF GREEN live in The Fountain Inn by a hungover Jonny Scott Blair:
CLUB SECRETARY OWEN MILLAR BUTCHERS “LUCKY MAN” BY THE VERVE:
CLUB CHAIRMAN JONNY BLAIR DOES A POOR MAN’S JARVIS COCKER:
SOENISC DANCING WOEFULLY TO TAINTED LOVE:
The South of England NISC would like to thank the entire island for making this a fantastic day out.
THIS POST IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF MEZ BLACKWELL, A MOST WELCOMING BARMAID FROM THE PAINTER’S ARMS IN COWES, ISLE OF WIGHT. MEZ RECENTLY DIED OF CANCER AND OUR HEARTS GO OUT TO HER FAMILY AND HER FRIENDS. MEZ LOOKED AFTER OUR WEE CROWD OF EEJITS THAT DAY AND WILL ALWAYS BE REMEMBERED WITHIN THE SOUTH OF ENGLAND NORTHERN IRELAND SUPPORTERS CLUB. THERE IS A TRIBUTE TO MEZ HERE:
