TEN - OH I DO LIKE TO BE BESIDE THE SEASIDE

As a special treat for doing well in his first term at school, and scoring the winning goal in his year’s mini-football tournament, Nobby Nobson’s parents, Hilda and William, were both agreed that a late day trip to the seaside would be a welcome treat for their young starlet.  Oh and what better place to go than to Ye Olde Blackpool Town for a day of showers, second-rate food, scandalously tacky indulgence and hopefully, some fun.  It was Saturday October the 22nd, the train set to run from Wincheston Train Station was the 8.04am direct, so it was an early start for all, including Nobby's best friend Tommy Thompson who had stopped overnight and was an invited guest.  With corned beef butties, a flask of tea and a pack of Strawberry Ruffles for the outward journey the family caught the local bus to the train station, boarded the rail-bound vehicle at 8.03am prompt and set off on their journey in perfect time.  The trip took just over an hour and was without incident although Nobby's dad did have trouble flushing a somewhat stubborn turd down the stuttering latrine perhaps due to its high content of Watney's Special Mild that he had consumed the night before.  This excrement based conundrum was soon put to one side though as the first sighting of the famous tower brought stomach-tingling excitement to all.  Nobby and Tommy had heard so much about this holidaying Mecca, to say they were getting a little worked up would be an understatement and even the fumes from the nearby rattling karsi failed to douse their positivity.

 

The party of 4 disembarked at 9.20am, checked the return timetable and after William had had to have another bowel movement, all set off to the sea front for a day of relaxed frivolity.  The weather was bracing, the wind whipped across the North Sea and brought cocktailed essences of salty invigoration to the ruffled day-trippers. The first port of call was a local cafe known as the Sunnyside Up.  The treats were on Dad who splashed the cash and bought all a full-English fry-up and Banana Milkshake.  The food swam in grease, the milkshake was thicker than the sperm of an elephant and the aromas all around could be deemed as quite polluting to an unbiased hooter, but to a family on holiday, they smelt almost exotic.  After settling the bill, and the adults had smoked a relax-inducing No 6, it was back out to the front where a kaleidoscope of colours burst from open shop fronts, early morning trams in the shape of boats and rockets ground their way over the sand-blown roadways and the crowds started to swell in the hope of a cameo appearance from the sun.  

 

The morning was a blur if the truth be told, in one shop, in another, Dad had to place a few bets and after a short wait it was more shops, more Tit Doorbells, more looking at suggestive postcards and more wondering what to spend one's day trip money on.  Rubber King Kongs, Kiss Me Quick Hats, Pop Guns, Bagatelles, windows laden with toy cars, model kits and of course, dirty playing cards, a packet of which Dad tried to purchase on the sly but was exposed when he dropped the unsealed box and the Ace of Clubs fell free and brought several 'oooh's and 'aaahs' from some day-tripping old dears. 

 

The slot machines were paid a visit of course with the magnetic hypnotising draw of the Penny Falls inescapable as large pennies and shillings hung precariously over a prize-giving precipice almost demanding that the player risked just one more go.  As cash trickled away so did time, dinner was a joy - a tray of chips soaked in vinegary grease, salted to the extreme with a liberal squirt of ketchup and a fair portion of cod on top.  All was consumed on a bench over looking the sands whilst the squawking gulls flocked and hoped to grab a spare morsel or two.  A pedaling ice-cream man shouted about his frozen wares, the sea foamed and gave off a memorable essence never to be forgotten and the day was still very much on the up.  Alas the afternoon's events would soon change the exhilaration into something akin to bewilderment and what is known as a 'rude awakening' - be prepared people, Part 11 will satisfy your curiosity and hopefully drama-loving desires.

NINE - HERO EXPOSED

We were in the final minute of the mini-cup final at St Dominant's Infant and Junior School - it currently stood at Wincheston Reds 1 v 1 Cudley Tigers.  The game had been put in suspended animation by my dabbling fingers when Thompson and Nobson were chasing down a long ball forward with only a pesky defender to deal with and an advancing goalkeeper to beat.  As we take the plunge back into the drama we see that legs galloped, the keeper was a fraction of a second too late on the scene and the attacking Thompson did enough to touch the ball away from the gloved guardian’s grasping hands and put the ball into Nobson’s path.  We were 10 yards away from the gaping net, the defending Giles Mix for the Tigers was on the heels of our wannabe hero, the next touch would be crucial (please feel free to take a breather). 

 

As the ball was now within shooting range Nobson prepared to strike.  Mix, out of desperation, reached out and got a firm hold on the waist of the attack-minded player’s lower garments and, as Nobson swung his shank and put his full lunging weight behind the ball, a great tearing sound was heard and both shorts and underpants were torn clean off as the sphere was propelled goalward.   The net bulged, Nobson was delighted and, caught up in the joys of the winning goal, failed to notice his meat and two veg were dangling for all the world to see.  He ran to his comrades with his hands above his head, he saw his fellow teammates take a look and run in the opposite direction and on two sides of the pitch two sets of supporters shouted, screamed and smirked with fingers pointing at something very, very untoward but very, very amusing.  Suddenly realisation dawned.

 

With much fluster Nobson was covered by Mr Liddell’s quickly removed tracksuit top and led away.  Young Nobby was in a turmoil of emotions but after quickly being given a pair of replacement shorts he made his way back out to many jeers, wolf-whistles and one or two giggles.  A small ceremony was had whereupon the Wincheston Reds, led by William Staines, were given a certificate of merit and a cheap Aluminium cup that Mr Liddell kept in his sweat and dust stinking storeroom.  Man of the Match went to Flair due to external political reasons and no mention was made of the winning goal and the unexpected nudity involved.  As a treat for all Mrs Liddell had made some sticky buns and home-made jelly which were given out in the centre circle whereupon everyone sat down, indulged and had a good old natter about the game, the gonads and the forthcoming school team selections.  

 

Like any outdoor activity in the climes of Great Britain it was eventually ruined by an unruly downpour and all and sundry had to dash like mad back indoors for a quick change and home.  The wind whipped up, the skies darkened, no one would have realised that only minutes before the desolate playing area was covered with many joyous, incredulous and downright shocked faces, all alive with laughter for one reason or another.  The only clue was a pair of torn cherry red shorts left blowing around a goal mouth, shorts that had been worn with pride, torn off with defensive desire, but shorts nonetheless of a boy destined for great things and...as it happens...a short spell of infamy over the coming weeks.