Cod Almighty | Diary

The art of comfort

25 February 2022

BOTB here, feeling all Friday. Well, here we go. Another weekend is almost upon us, Town haven't played for a fortnight, we're in mid-table and the second thread down on The Fishy is entitled 'Head Chef'. Tomorrow we will attempt to turnover Dover.

Being old and having a high chair from Shackletons for my athritis, I once went on a cruise from Dover. Don't judge me. On the ship we met a man who lived near the dock and his lifestyle was a cunning one – before a cruise ship left, he'd idle up to the booking area and ask if they had any free cabins. If they had he would bargain with them, and having wheedled a cabin for two hundred pounds or whatever he would jump on board, spend two weeks stuffing his face and enjoying Madeira or wherever, then go home and wait for the next cruise ship before starting the process again. He assured us it was cheaper than buying his own food in Dover and much more exciting.

He should have been an interesting and entertaining man, but he wasn't. Travel of course is supposed to broaden the mind, and it doubtless does, but it can also make people exceptionally dull as they tell you three-hour anecdotes about the time they saw a donkey fall over sideways in Bolivia.

After a spate of Americans and Europeans being kidnapped in the Columbian jungle some time ago, I asked my friend Kate why she thought people kept on going to these obviously dangerous areas. "Because they consider themselves to be very splendid," was her precise reply, which has stayed with me to this day. The chances of being kidnapped by drug cartels in Dover are currently low, though it might be wise to keep an eye on the local press in case things change.

Now, unlike people who climb Ben Nevis in their slippers and have to be rescued, or people who cross Syria on foot and are surprised when they run into trouble, I do actually think the Town fans heading for Dover are splendid. They are going to support their team, not to tell everyone that they have been there and raise their own status as hardcore supporters and feed egos.

Well, there might be the odd one. You won’t have to search him out because you'll hear him from distance at the Woking match. "Well, that was a good goal from Taylor, but not as good as the one he scored at Dover, which I saw with my own eyes, because I was there, because I went all the way to Dover, me, because I'm Sir Sammy the Special, King of the Supporters and I am better than you. By the way did I ever tell you about the time I went to North Borneo and the tribal chief cooked me a lemon drizzle cake?"

We are expected to beat Dover, which is always a tricky situation. If we win, little praise will be proffered, and the imaginary school report will read "meets expectations." If we lose, the short-fused messageboarders will explode with rage, dogs will growl at walls and the imaginary report will read "could and should do much better, see me after school for canes." Personally I'll be pleased with anything that keeps my crazy little play-off dreams alive. I want us to play Bromley in the play-offs, beat them and then celebrate in their dugout followed by a raucous party in their manager's gazebo.

Bluebirds aren't native to Britain. There are many theories as to why they should be over the white cliffs of Dover in the famous song. One is that they are supposed to be swallows, which are a bluey colour, another is they are fighter jets, and another is that the bluebirds are actually fragments of blue sky appearing from behind the clouds of war. My favourite comment on this comes from a Guardian queries page:

"I think this means blue skies after the gloomy black skies of war. Possibly the swallows could be an idea but blue tits would not make a big enough impact as they are garden birds and too small to be noticed by the women waiting for their men to arrive"
Mick Warwick, Larkfield Kent England

So, if you are going tomorrow, the best of British luck to you splendid souls, and if you do notice any blue tits over the white cliffs of Dover, I'll write to Mick and tell him he was wrong. UTM!