TT BLOG

Clive Hayward – @Byehorse

Clive discusses the trip to Hampton

HAMPTON AWAY, OLE OLE!

A memorable, emotional weekend full of joy and reflection.

The centrepiece was, of course, the trip to Hampton & Richmond but that was sandwiched between two days which reinforced the importance of family and friendship.

Friday:

On Friday night Celia and I went to Holmesey’s Final Goal, an evening to celebrate the life and death of Torquay’s universally popular right back and to raise money (quite a lot of money, as it turned out) for Rowcroft Hospice.

Paul’s widow Kate and his former team mate Russell Musker spoke movingly of their love for Paul and his heartbreaking early bath due to bowel cancer. His final days were spent at Rowcroft and we watched a video of him and his family making memories there and expressing their gratitude for the love and care he received from the staff. There was barely a dry eye in the house.

We recovered our composure with a good old quiz. Our 50-50-50 team table-mates included Josh, a mere youngster who has clearly forgotten more than we will ever know about logos. It was one of a series of hard luck stories for us: we finished second or third in three rounds but despite scoring highly on Football and higher still on Sweets & Chocolate we finished the night empty-handed. The hampers all went elsewhere.

The raffle similarly looked like a hard luck story, but we rallied towards the end and Celia is now the proud owner of a marshmallow bubble bath set, whilst my pants drawer has been boosted by two spectacular pairs of boxer shorts. A cuddly seagull also finished the night Chez Hayward.

The real thrills and spills were in the fundraising auction. A gentleman at my table spent a lot of money on a Bobby Moore shirt (tragically, another victim of Paul’s disease), whilst Pele continues to raise money from beyond the grave with his Brasil jersey fetching over £600. Mark Bowes-Cavanagh’s credit card took one hell of a beating.

The night was beautifully choreographed by Rowcroft’s fundraising team (they are really good at it!) with able assistance from staff who work with Kate at Co-op Funeral Care.

It costs several million quid a year to run Rowcroft, and if you happen to have some money spare please put it to good use here: https://rowcrofthospice.org.uk/get-involved/donate/make-a-donation/

Saturday:

Beautiful weather, beautiful people and beautiful food. More about the food (actually quite a lot more about the food) later.

The Dan Hayfield Appreciation Society is a shadowy organisation. You won’t hear about it often, but its tentacles spread throughout Social Media and it is a loose alliance of Torquay fans who enjoy mixing football pleasure with altruism, flag design and -breaking news- opportunistic pizza theft. An alternative name is Al Wills’ Al Qaeda. I was recruited in the Summer by “Jamie”, one of the king pins, who lives in a well disguised lair in a small village near Ipplepen. That might not be his real name.

I have broken the cardinal rule of “not talking about Fight Club”, but in for a penny, in for a pound. My fledgling journalistic career depends on scoops. Saturday had been designated as the first DHAS day out, and we were blessed with Autumn sunshine down by the Thames.

Most of us found our way, by fair means and foul, to The World’s End pub. I drove to the end of the M3 and it was then a two stop train ride from hotel to hostelry.

The beer garden was great and the beer was -for South West London- reasonably priced. The kitchen struggled to deal with the influx (somehow I doubt that the likes of Hornchurch or St Albans take as many fans there) but as if by magic, after about an hour there was a large and unexpected delivery of pizza. After some initial puzzlement about who might have ordered the 10 boxes, a consensus grew. There was nobody else in the garden, and nobody had come to claim them. The answer seemed simple. Those lovely Bryn fellas must have done it again. This was clearly the Westcott Farnborough Bacon Buttie Sequel.

Torquay tucked in, until there was only a quarter of an olive, spinach and fried egg pizza remaining. It had my name on it, so as people started drifting away to the ground I picked up the fateful cardboard.

“Hey mate did you pay for those Pizzas?” asked a new arrival, smartly clad in a green OJFC hoodie. “No mate, of course you didn’t, because those pizzas are ours.”

Whoops. My flustered apology was waved away and I decided to make myself scarce.

Yes reader, I’m sorry to say that the Yellow Army had snaffled the post match meal of Old Johnians FC! They were probably looking forward to the scran, because they had just lost 2-0, which was a creditable result given that the had only been able to muster 9 men for their Arthurian League Premier Division clash with Old Reptonians. The division is currently led by the Old Carthusians, with Old Etonians languishing in the bottom two. And they say money talks in football!

Seriously though, our heartfelt apologies are sent to Quentin, Bartholomew, Ralph and their chums. Get yourselves down to Plainmoor boys, and the Belly Busters are on us!

It was, as we know, one of Torquay’s better days on the pitch. Cody Cooke came up with the goods again, and three points and a clean sheet are what awayday dreams are made of. Half of Torquay was there, with fans from 8 to 80 having a brilliant afternoon at the very welcoming Beveree.

One feature of football at our level is the accessibility of players and club officials, which would explain why chats were there to be had with the Chairman, the Manager and the Chief Exec within a few minutes of the final whistle. Paul Watton was delighted with the performance, and had unfortunately made mugs of us all with his decision to give Lirak a rest! The Donny Pirlo and Ollie Tomlinson treated us to a warm down and it looks like he appreciates Matty’s re-working of the Whitney Houston/ Armani Little classic: “Hey, I wanna dance with Hasani”.

The night was young, and the next item of business for the DHAS inner core was our own post-match nosh at the Jolly Cooper’s (named after the famously cheerful Yeovil Manager). To nobody’s surprise I had ordered the Gammon. A fun time was had by all, especially Denzil, who rolled back the years in his inimitable fashion.

It was probably about 8 o’clock by the time we lurched out into the quiet streets of Hampton, and Chris Ballard- WHO HAD FLOWN FROM NEW YORK TO ATTEND- gave me and three other freeloaders a lift to the hotel in his rented gas guzzler.

Chris rather limply decided to get his beauty sleep but the elite pressed on, and a very enjoyable couple of nightcaps were downed.

Sunday:

A cup of tea and the Match of the Day replay in bed felt pretty decadent, and my hedonism continued with an all you can eat cooked breakfast downstairs. It was the absolutely perfect start to a day I had been looking forward to for a while.

I knew that if I got my arse in gear and the A303 was kind, I would be in a room with 4 generations of Haywards by lunchtime, with my baby great nephew being introduced to his Great Grandma (my Mum) for the first time. The little fella is now a month old, and lives with his mum and dad in Pompey. He’s chosen his parents well. I have already supplied him with his first Torquay United kit, although I am slightly sceptical that he is yet to wear it “because it’s a bit too big for him.”

Before he arrived I had had 20 years without cuddling babies, and I had no idea how much I had missed it. He’s a placid little soul who really craves nothing more than regular milk and a warm place to sleep. I love him with all my heart.