TT GROUNDHOPPING

Clive Hayward – @Byehorse

Clive discusses his trip to Farnboro

FARNBOROUGH (A)

A week off in November. Welcome, to be sure, but if I tell you its centrepiece is a trip to the Saunders Transport Community Stadium you’ll probably understand that this isn’t me giving it the biggun about exotic foreign travel or bucket list experiences.

Actually, before I give you chapter and verse about Paul Wotton’s Yellow Army’s demolition of Farnborough I will take us on a little diversion to Pastyland. On Monday, I had what many would describe as an incredibly dull day trip to West Cornwall. With half-decent weather forecast, I took myself off to Penzance on the train. On the way down I did a bit of Wordling and a lot of reading about the 2008 American Presidential campaign. Spoiler Alert: Obama wiped the floor with blue and red challengers alike, and Sarah Palin narrowly failed her audition for Monty Python’s Flying Circus: The Alaska Special.

When I got to Penzance, I went for a couple of leisurely walks, waited a long time for a bus and took some photos of trains. Firstly, I walked up the EU-funded coast path to Marazion. It’s very pleasant, running between the railway line and the beach with St Michael’s Mount in view at all times. Due to the tide being in and it being shut, I could only view the mythical feature from a bus stop, but it had been a pleasant amble.

When I got back to Penzance, on a whim, I set off on a mooch to Mousehole. It was well worth the walk. I went through Newlyn, which still gives every impression of being a thriving fishing port. On the road high above the harbour there was- I kid you not- an artist committing the dozen trawlers visible to canvas. The Newlyn School appears to be continuing.

Mousehole was very attractive. A small harbour with a welcoming pub overlooking it. Offshore were some wicked looking rocks and on the way in you pass the memorial to the lifeboat crew who lost their lives trying to save others on a terrible night in 1981. The RNLI always needs support. All crews are volunteers. They are the very best of us, and you can donate here:

Donate to the RNLI and help save lives at sea – https://share.google/99s29gg6omYrhLZFO

Anyway, you’ll probably want to read about Wednesday now?

Here goes. The evening kick-off allowed for a leisurely start to the day, including a haircut that nowadays takes about 2 minutes including the bit where I confirm I have no holiday plans and (truly) ask how Besiktas got on at the weekend (shocker- blew a 2 goal lead and lost 3-2 to Fenerbahce!!).

I teamed up with fellow TT person Chris for this trip, leaving my car at his before walking down to the river to catch a train to Exeter. The train was either 10 minutes early or Chris had told me the wrong time, but shockingly I had been organised enough to get there early enough to catch it.

Give me a book, a coffee and an hour at a railway station and I’m like a pig in the proverbial, so I very much enjoyed my wait at St Davids.

Chris had sketched out a plan for the trip, but as the 14.43 to Paddington arrived he was nowhere to be seen. I half-wondered if he was on the train but he appeared, like Mr Benn’s shopkeeper, in the nick of time and climbed aboard. Passengers were few and far between, the train ran almost on time and Chris was all over the hot chocolate and kit kat meal deal.

It was dimpsey as we rolled through the well-trodden path. Castle Cary and Westbury came and went, and we arrived at Reading a few minutes too late to catch the first train to Farnborough.

So we went for a pint. Chris tells me he rarely goes to the pub nowadays, so it was a little treat for him, greatly enhanced when I told him how much his Guinness had cost! Money well spent though, and the Three Guineas was a nice place to kill half an hour.

We caught the 17.20 to Gatwick. It was busy with commuters and shoppers, and we shared the quiet pleasure of knowing that our journey had the promise of something a little more stimulating at the end of it.

We got off at Farnborough North, where Chris’ Dad Pete was waiting for us. He is every bit as good a chauffeur as Thea’s Driver, and that Pete may lack in tins if Celebrations he more than makes up for in Football Programme Chat and analysis of whatever the handball rule is this week.

A potentially-sweaty yomp to the ground was transformed into a 5 minute drive. Thanks Pete!

So it was that at 6pm we found ourselves by the turnstiles and a very-reasonable £14 later we were in and soaking up the preamble. The stewards we spoke to were welcoming. Sweetness and Light. Emperor boys and girls please take note. Catering was cheap and cheerful. Sausage and chips (£6.60) for me, burgers for the other two. Bellies full, we had happy chats with the diehards (including Paul Bastard and the 3 Musketeers- featuring a clean-shaven and even more devastatingly-handsome Jules Nixon.

Mike Westcott, Paul Wotton and Tom Allen were up for a chat too. Unspoken between us was the knowledge that this could be a big game for the Gulls’ season. We learned a bit from Paul about his scouting trip to watch Maidenhead and my rather lame joke about Will De Havilland being good in the air “landed” (geddit?) with the Chairman and nobody else.

Farnborough’s ground is reminiscent of Woking, in that there is a decent stand behind one goal and not a lot else of substance.

We took our seats near the top, and were rewarded with a view of slightly sub-par floodlights (yeah, I know: pot, kettle black) and some lovely Autumnal colour at the other end. There were a few fireworks up snd away to our left, but nothing could have prepared us for the shock and awe which saw Torquay effectively win the game in the first 11 minutes.

Louis Dennis stayed fit long enough to put us 2 goals to the good- easy finishes if you have his instinct to get yourself in the right place- and all of q sudden it was fun watching the Gulls again.

Charlie Baker arrived in time to insist he had seen the first goal, and I hear that fellow Yellow Jim Proudfoot coined the best phrase of the night, commenting on Sonny Fish, who chased everything after replacing LD in the first half. “He’s very raw: he should be known as sushi.” Sonny is starting to show us what Paul Wotton sees in him though, and reading between the lines of the boss’ post match interview the youngster may have reacted angrily to being withdrawn before the end- in a fairly clear signal that he will be front and centre on Saturday. That feels like a good sign: a hungry fish is surely a dangerous one!

Conceding an avoidable late penalty didn’t take the shine off a convincing and well-overdue away performance, and bizarrely the 3-1 win was apparently Wotton’s Torquay’s first away win in a change strip.

Pete- God bless his cotton socks- drove us home. We sneaked onto the 303 just before an overnight closure came into force, and we got back to South Devon in good time. Retirement is agreeing with him: on Tuesday he had seen his beloved Blackburn get a surprise 3 points at Bristol City. As I write this, he is on an epic trip up to Scotland, where he plans to combine some local history research with Stenhousemuir v Kielty Hearts.

Geddon!

Up the Gulls