This was a rush from work to make sure I got the 15.36 and the 50 minute journey to the south coast via the stunning views of East Croydon. (£3 ticket, don't say trains are too expensive!)
The perfect forecast the BBC had given me 24 hours ago looked very wrong as the dark clouds gathered, the downpours were not far away, no worries, I had my lucky England red rose cap, well it was lucky in 2003.
Monty; the one who takes wickets, not the one who did well against the Germans, they don't play Test cricket.
The perfect forecast the BBC had given me 24 hours ago looked very wrong as the dark clouds gathered, the downpours were not far away, no worries, I had my lucky England red rose cap, well it was lucky in 2003.
Monty; the one who takes wickets, not the one who did well against the Germans, they don't play Test cricket.
Somehow I could get light wave on the radio for Test Match Special, when I held it by the window high up by the 'don't put your feet on a seat' notice, for nearly an hour.
Aggers was clearly heard from the sunshine of Trinidad, Prior had smashed 61 off 49 balls, Pietersen had got to a hundred this time, declaration at lunch giving an outside chance of drawing the series, a double victory maybe, the play-offs back on, (or as Tilly would say, relegation saved), screw the rain!
Not as I ran from the mainline station to my first stop on the Brighton pub crawl, it was pissing down, the Evening Star pub offering welcome sanctuary five minutes away. Bloody lucky cap, like English rugby at the moment, useless, drenched!
Looking at the bar sunshine returned to my life, no wonder there were CAMRA stickers covering the front, what would I choose? As it was only 4.30 in the afternoon I bought a £2.80 pint of Tea, and very nice medium dark beer at 4.2% it is, especially with cucumber sandwiches, sadly they'd sold out of those.
Brilliant slip catch by Collinwood, 28-1, then another wicket soon after, two down early, don't get excited.
Three punters next to me going through the excellent bottled beer menu, German and Belgium, some I couldn't even pronounce, no, I'm here for the beer.
You could imagine Darth Varder popping up the bar for a pint of Dark Star bitter but I went for a lighter ale in the form of a 4.7% American Pale Ale from the same local brewery. I obviously had a vision that Joycey was going to enter the game at some time.
Crisp, perfect colour, I wanted another, but time getting on, better make the ten minute walk to Basketmakers Arms at the wrong end of Gloucester Road.
The rain had stopped.
One of the best Fullers pubs outside London it certainly charged London prices, £3.20 for a pint of ESB, but it was very good and has an excellent choice of whiskies. I choose one from an island somewhere near Skye, 10 year single malt, lovely. Better try a glass of the 15 year one while I'm here.
Oh dear, the ground was starting to look a long way away, which it was!
They do a good steak, credit card behind the bar, what the hell, the pubs near Preston Park are rubbish anyway, and a large glass of Chilean red would go down nicely.
The Windies were four down now, their best guy out, not even tea yet, getting a little excited.
Back at Brighton mainline just after seven for the four minute journey, waved my London-Brighton ticket to the guy on the gate, he waved me through, outside the Sportsman and the away end a good half hour before kick off where a security bloke tells me the pub's just closing! Damn, that wasn't in the script. "The guy with the drums coming out" he speaks into a radio, and there he was. Weird.
Last twenty overs, five down, their captain's injured batting down the order, Monty's back and on fire, too much for the umpires at times, it's bloody on!
A horrible ground to go to, certainly the open away end, a cup of Maxwell House instant coffee in a paper cup in my hand, the seats wet, the view crap, we'd better win, which, in the end, we did and quite easily really.
(Full report and player markings here:
www.thelittlegazette.com/news/loadnews.asp?cid=TMNW&id=437100)
Barny gets another, no he doesn't offside, can't tell you if it was or not, couldn't see a bloody thing, might as well have been France at that end.
Half-time, more horrible brown stuff, phone the German whose watching the cricket, ''we can't blow both", I winge,"will Monty stop shouting".
Monty shouts, and gets a dodgy decision, 7 down, then Anderson bowls a jaffer and it's 8, I clutch my fist, we're going to do this.
That turns out to be the last wicket.
Five minutes left; Brighton having improved after a pitiful first 45 along with Macca and Mildenhall both off injured, it looks as if two draws is the best, and very English, conclusion to my sporting day. Can we still do the play-offs now?
Oh Lord! Barny cuts in and lets loose a stunning curler, we frigging well saw that allright, as it smashes into the net. Brilliant!
"Cherrio, Cherrio", sing the Shrimpers as the home crowd leave en masse. Shame, they missed another goal.
Four minutes of stoppage time; Brighton on the attack, a great tackle, Grant I think, a break, Betsy crosses, here's to you Theo Robinson, and he smacks it in from, well, half a yard, maybe less.
A quick jog back to the station and the 22.04, where I get the late 21.36, and then notice I've got another three pounder but for the 23.00! What! Pressed the wrong bloody button. Shite! Here's the ticket guy, should I try and blag my way around it or just do the honourable thing and pay the excess.
I hid in the toilet until he passed. At my age! Well I did want to go, all that crap coffee!
Home before midnight, the dream continues, until Saturday and the border country of Herefordshire anyway.
Everyone in good voice, Barny has scored at last, a bit of a shock when they equalised.
Then told to sit down, "the seat's wet"; "here, take this". I'm handed a couple of sheets of brown paper to sit on, the dampness creeps through.
Then told to sit down, "the seat's wet"; "here, take this". I'm handed a couple of sheets of brown paper to sit on, the dampness creeps through.
Barny gets another, no he doesn't offside, can't tell you if it was or not, couldn't see a bloody thing, might as well have been France at that end.
Half-time, more horrible brown stuff, phone the German whose watching the cricket, ''we can't blow both", I winge,"will Monty stop shouting".
Monty shouts, and gets a dodgy decision, 7 down, then Anderson bowls a jaffer and it's 8, I clutch my fist, we're going to do this.
That turns out to be the last wicket.
Five minutes left; Brighton having improved after a pitiful first 45 along with Macca and Mildenhall both off injured, it looks as if two draws is the best, and very English, conclusion to my sporting day. Can we still do the play-offs now?
Oh Lord! Barny cuts in and lets loose a stunning curler, we frigging well saw that allright, as it smashes into the net. Brilliant!
"Cherrio, Cherrio", sing the Shrimpers as the home crowd leave en masse. Shame, they missed another goal.
Four minutes of stoppage time; Brighton on the attack, a great tackle, Grant I think, a break, Betsy crosses, here's to you Theo Robinson, and he smacks it in from, well, half a yard, maybe less.
A quick jog back to the station and the 22.04, where I get the late 21.36, and then notice I've got another three pounder but for the 23.00! What! Pressed the wrong bloody button. Shite! Here's the ticket guy, should I try and blag my way around it or just do the honourable thing and pay the excess.
I hid in the toilet until he passed. At my age! Well I did want to go, all that crap coffee!
Home before midnight, the dream continues, until Saturday and the border country of Herefordshire anyway.