Colin, The Duchess of Kant

First of all, many apologies for not posting anything for last week’s game, (I had an awfully busy week). For the record, it finished 5-1 to the team in Colours, although the Bibs did take the lead through a rare-as-hen’s-teeth goal from Bristol’s Mr Dependable, Simon Gas. In greasy conditions, Simon’s fierce shot from wide on the left slipped under Danny’s feet in goal. That was as good as it got for the team in Bibs, however – despite Yev being joined by his compadre and fellow Ukrainian, Olympic guest Vitali, he could not find the net, (while Vitali was upended by Alex in a typically English challenge: welcome to Old Street). Alex generally ran riot and bagged a thoroughly deserved hat-trick, aided and abetted by two goals from Steve A. 

This Friday’s game was a seven aside affair, with the teams lining up as follows:

Bibs: me, Dan, Spizz, Yev, Simon Inkpen, Geoff, Sam

Colours: Joe, Alex, Danny, Simon Gas, Andy, Wing-Commander Will, Steve A

The game remained goalless for the first fifteen minutes, but the team in Bibs took the lead following a slightly speculative long-range effort from Yev. Much of the danger from the team in Colours came from an effervescent Joe and a characteristically domineering midfield performance from Alex and it was those two players who linked up most effectively. The Colours equaliser came somewhat fortuitously, with a desperate tackle from myself squirting across the area, past Dan and to an unmarked Joe at the far post who finished unerringly into the corner. The goal which proved to be the winner came from some delightful one-twos between Alex and Joe, with the Joe slipping his marker and fizzing the ball into the far corner.

Despite the attentions of Yev and gout-ridden punk rocker Spizz, the Bibs could not fashion an equaliser, although I managed to miss a chance that a tetraplegic tortoise could have put away, somehow contriving to miss an open goal from about six yards. A day that began with me spilling coffee over my trousers and all over the floor ended just as disappointingly. My misery was compounded by being heckled by the eight ‘o’ clock crew. Bastards.

And so to the pub. We have returned to the Old Fountain’s Head in the past fortnight, although last week’s trip was not one I was overly keen to repeat having been outrageously ignored by Jim at the bar. (This week’s blog is making me sound like a right loser). Last night’s sojourn was an altogether happier experience, chiefly as Yev regaled us with his tales of drunken lechery from the previous weekend when he and the aforementioned Vitali hit the avenues and alleyways of London Town. They ended the weekend in Tiger, Tiger in the Haymarket where both Yev and Vitali were much taken with a waitress named Colin, from Kant. At least that’s what it sounded like on Yev’s telling of the story. On repetition, her name could have been Holly, although whether she deserved the sobriquet of the Duchess of Kant it is impossible to say.