TT GROUNDHOPPING

Clive Hayward – @Byehorse

Clive discusses his trip to Hampton (and Richmond)

HAMPTON & RICHMOND (A)

What it lacked in pizza, this season’s trip to Hampton repaid in fun, companionship and goals.

You know me, I’m always up for a train ride, but the trip up the Waterloo line was a bit of a chore. Landslips and tunnel trauma near Crewkerne have slowed the already leisurely pace to something more akin to 19th century speeds

It took over 4 hours to get from Exeter to Clapham Junction and I swear we were overtaken by Brett McGavin somewhere near Yeovil!

It didn’t matter. The journey out to Sunbury was enlivened by a young family returning from their holiday. Two girls, bright as buttons, keen for their first day back at school. Mum, mid-thirties, soft Northern accent, nice legs, keeping order whilst allowing her youngest daughter to plait her hair. Dad, South African at a guess, looked on calmly, rarely getting a word in edgeways but clearly adored by the women in his life.

It was a day when downpours had outnumbered the rare sunny intervals, and I have stayed in prettier spots than the Sunbury M3 Travellodge. But it was close to the station and only a short hop back to Hampton, where festivities commenced.

I found Tom in The Worlds End, a comfortable boozer which was the scene of DHAS Pizzagate 12 months earlier. I had a few £6 Morettis, the second of which came courtesy of Michael Westcott, who arrived at about 6pm and gave us the team news: “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Andy F walked in and we had a good catch up. He’s been retired for 15 years now, although he left work when he was in his forties and doesn’t always enjoy being referred to as a pensioner. He’s had some sorrows this summer and it was great to see him on good form.

We walked around the corner and into the ground. Despite having a name that sounds like the insufferable Smithy from Gavin and Stacey buying a drink (“Gavlar, let’s get a Beveree”), Hampton’s slightly ramshackle but beautifully-appointed home never disappoints. Charlie and John from Nat Obs Pod were in attendance along with maybe 300 other away fans, which dragged the attendance kicking and screaming into four figures.

The injury-ravaged Yellows played well, considering that Keane Anderson, the last minute signing from Aldershot, only met his new colleagues in the dressing room and that Louis Dennis’ groin appears to be held together by gaffer tape.

We were a crossbar and a Dan Hayfield skier away from grabbing all three points, but I was delighted with the performance and the reaction of the players to Saturday’s shambles.

At the end of the match I found myself in a debrief with Michael, Mark Bowes-Cavanagh, Tom, Simon Robinson and Nick Brodrick. We were a happy sextet, concluding that maybe rumours of the imminent demise of Torquay United have been exaggerated!

Tom and I chatted in the pub to some locals- some more mental than others. There were a couple of middle-aged Spurs fans, who follow their team across Europe and one of whom claimed to have turned out for Weston-super-Mare as a younger man. They had good things to say about Torquay’s performance, and it was one of those evenings that makes you feel good about being a football fan.

I am writing this on another journey that takes longer than you imagine: from Waterloo to Reading. We have meandered through some of the capital’s prettier spots. Wimbledon, Putney, Mortlake and Richmond. We have just crossed the Thames at the less-than-attractively-named town of Staines, and I will now put my head down and dream of Slough Town (h).