It is not often that a piece of literature .. (well forum post) makes everybody smile, laugh, guffaw or whatever so much that it deserves pride of place on the sites front page.
Normally for this article I pad out the entries I get with a bit of Chix rhetoric or a few personal anecdotes but this week I am going to get to the number one spot as quickly as possible as to not take away the enjoyment of what I know is in store.
So without further ado the Scunthorpe and Southend Top Tenuous.
10. Pompey have never lost at home to Southend.
9. Former Pompey player Richard Money started and finished his league career at Scunny.
8. Portsmouth Scunny and Southend all have ‘th’ a ‘s’ and an ‘o’ and a ‘u’ in their names.
7. Lee Bradbury played for both Pompey and the Shrimpers.
6. Former Pompey boss Flat capped Frank Burrows once played for Scunny.
5.Pompey has the district of North End but doesn’t have a South End.
4. Former Pompey boss John Gregory was born in Scunny.
3. Pompey played out a 0-0 draw with Southend (away) in the Football League Cup Round 1 1st Leg on Wed 2 Sep 1981 – Chixy’s 18th Birthday.
2. Pompey’s original nickname was The Shrimpers – The same as Southend.
1. And now unedited the entry received form CornyPomp – Sit back and enjoy.
Oh boy… I’ve been waiting for this one. What I’m about to relay was an actual happening in my incredibly mis-spent youth.
I was playing in a band and gigging in a very posh pub in Virginia Water. We used to call it Virgins Water, but I won’t go into that right now.
Anyway, I was strutting my stuff and waving my Strat about, when I spotted the most gorgeous blond creature gyrating like a snake and smiling at me. Well, I thought she was smiling anyway.
I’ll tell you, my vibrato went right off the scale and I forgot all about playing deep meaningful blues. I only had one thing on my mind, and if you want a guitar analogy… I had G-strings stimulating my creative juices.
Come half time, I summoned up every bit of Dutch I had and sidled up to this beauty. Being the smooth operator I was in those days, I whispered my number one chat-up line in her ear… “Where do-ya come from then luv” She responded (as I knew she would) and answered in the huskiest, sexiest drawl you’d ever heard… Scunthorpe!!!!
Jeez, I nearly choked on me John Courage. What I first took as a drawl, was an accent (that to a southerner) was definitely way North of the Watford Gap. Way, way North! Icelandic North. Unheard of North…
Anyway, Scunthorpian drawl or not, this Siren was definitely blowing my horn. I could hardly keep my chords on me fretboard.
I’m not going to tell you lot what happened that night because… precisely nothing happened. She was playing hard to get, or was it ‘git’.
I was stymied but not beaten. As luck would have it, my Scunthorpian beauty was visiting a posh Auntie in Ascot. An oxymoron I know, but there you go. She was down South for the week and it was only a Thursday evening. I remember that, cos Thursday was our first gig night.
Now, here’s where the tenuous link comes in. The year was 1974 (I think) about March/April time. My plan for the Saturday was to get myself down to Pompey in the old Ford Cortina. Have an afternoon of footie at Fratton (verses Hull if I recall) and then pay a visit to an old girlfriend ‘Rattling Rosie’ in Gosport…. for an evening of unadulterated Ludo.
Well, what was a chap to do? As luck would have it, my mind was made up for me. My Scunthorpian Siren (no doubt loosened up by the charm I oozed those days) wanted to do the trip to Pompey… and maybe get a cheap B&B somewhere. Jeez, I could barely keep my loon pants on with the anticipation of it… No, no, no………. it’s the game I’m talking about!
Friday evening arrived, and guess whose having a drink with me in the Staff Hotel/Camberley? Yep, my Scunthorpian beauty. Her name turned out to be N*****, but I wasn’t much into names in those days. I was too deep for that… snigger snigger.
Things were definitely looking good. I’m with a gorgeous blond woman from up North, taking her to see my favourite football team down South, and… have just been invited to a party. Oh, there most definitely is a God.
Now, for those of a sheltered disposition… look away now.
The evening quickly descended into something resembling the last days of Sodom and Gomorrah, not that I was complaining. God knows what I was drinking… and smoking… it felt good at the time, but jeez, I wanted to die in the morning. And that’s despite my lovely Scunthorpian N***** laying on the floor beside me. Mind you, she didn’t look quite as alluring as the evening before… more like she’d just done ten rounds with Joe Frazier.
What a night though, but holy smoke… it was already heading towards midday, and here I was in a strange flat with my head stuck down the toilet. That wouldn’t be so bad, but my plastic plate with four front teeth on (that some bastard had knocked out with a chair leg) had somehow taken a dive down the loo too. And yes, it had been flushed. Oh my God!!! Stop bloody laughing 🙂
Well, it had to happen didn’t it. N***** sort of sobered up, took one look at me and screamed. My oozing charm seemed to have disappeared with the night along with my teeth. Lucky she didn’t have an S in her name. Mind you… you try saying Scunthorpe without your teeth in. It`s not the C in Scunthorpe your worried about.
Anyway, after copious cups of black coffee, I decided to risk getting in the old Cortina with the idea of picking up some spare knashers at my flat and then booting it down to Pompey… approx 60 miles.
N***** had put on some sort of clothing and sat expectantly in the passenger seat. Nothing bloody happened did it. My most reliable friend was as dead as a dodo… and my head was thumping.
We did the four mile walk back to my flat and collapsed in a heap when we got there… not before I’d grabbed my spare knashers though. Oh, the vigour of youth.
Of course, we never made it to the game. We sat on the sofa, knitting and doing the odd bit of crochet work until Sports Report came on.
Pompey had won I remember that, and I’m positive it was Hull. Can’t remember the score though, I’ve no doubt it’s out there on the net somewhere. I dropped Scunthorpian N***** off at the station the next morning. We promised to write, but never did. I was 23 then, she’d be about 60ish now, the time waits for no man… or woman.
And that my fellow Vitalists is my tenuous link to Scunthorpe. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. I had a laugh writing it. And the funny thing is… it’s actually true.
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