Gay Nazi Sex Vicar in Schoolgirl Knickers Vice Disco Lawnmower Shock!
« My town is full of gipposBroke »

Piss and chips

  Mon 13th November 2023

Unleashed from work, and in charge of a credit card, I take myself to Grimsby to have a good shout with the other Morecambe fans. We scored in the 90th second and the 86th minute, but in that interval Grimsby scored thrice.

After the match I was taken to what I was assured is "the roughest pub in Grimsby" by three men I met on the train from Cleethorpes (Grimsby's ground, confusingly, is in Cleethorpes). I stayed for a couple, but got a bit tired of one bloke telling me at length, with photographic illustrations, of what great sex I could have if I went to Thailand.

I had booked a "hotel" for 35 quid. I was welcomed into a large living room where a silent man was watching the television and a dog was eating the remains of their dinner from a plate on the floor. The owner was a Chinese woman, who, in between nodding like an oriental Parkinson's sufferer, took me into the yard and showed me the outdoor privy which was to be the loo. We then went upstairs, me wondering why the inside toilet on the first floor was barred to me, and she showed me into a room-sized fridge which looked like some drug rehabilitation hostel, with a mattress directly on the floor.

Back in town, as I thawed out in a well-known chain pub, I was tempted by a notice about rooms being available. I texted the "hotel" to say that I had decided to stay in town and would be back to collect my things the following morning. I had a large double room with a bathroom the size of my bedroom for 68 quid.

I went down for breakfast yesterday morning, Remembrance Sunday, and thought I was in some sort of film set for Carry On Up The Colonials.


Doncaster. The only town in the United Kingdom
where they eat cafes

On the journey back I had a bit of time to kill in Doncaster, so I went to The Plough, where a bloke said that he'd been to Blackpool where he bought a present for a friend. "I got her this cock rock. Be more of a man than she's had for a while." The landlord, who looked like a character from an Alan Sillitoe novel, with slicked back thinning hair, brought out a free buffet of cheese, crackers, sausage rolls, and black pudding.

Back on the train, a couple of Scousers were counting out hundreds and hundreds of pounds in twenties and tenners. After a verification process that seemed to be taking place, with confirming nods between them, they started chatting to me, asking me if the Morecambe fans had taken up the usual away supporters' chant, "We Piss on Your Fish."

6 comments

Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

Doncaster seems like it would be hard work - not only is the tourist expected to eat delicious cafes, but they are also expected to entertain cinemas and theatres, and find time to relax squares and parks. Exhausting.
They’d eat me alive up north!!
Sx

Mon 13th November 2023 @ 07:31 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Looby [Visitor]

It’s quite an ask isnt it? :)

Mon 13th November 2023 @ 07:43 Reply to this comment
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

Sounds a fine day/night out at the match… sans the result of course… another swell adventure indeed though i’d like to know what all the money counting was about… though i have my suspicions ;)

Wed 22nd November 2023 @ 06:31 Reply to this comment
Comment from: [Member]

Yes it’s always fun when one’s away from home, unleashed!

Mon 27th November 2023 @ 07:19 Reply to this comment
Comment from: exile on pain street [Visitor]

I know a guy—a book dealer—who goes to Thailand for these excursions. I stopped buying books from him. I felt dirty.

I wouldn’t expect much for 35 quid but the outdoor loo is a bridge too far. Sometimes you just have to spend more.

How can I get a seat at The Plough? Could I make that happen.

Here we go into the winter months. Buckle up.

Sun 26th November 2023 @ 15:54 Reply to this comment
Comment from: [Member]

I just don’t understand why you’d chose to share all that kind of thing with strangers. I mean, there’s blogging for that :)

And the hotel – well, “buy cheap, buy twice.”

You’d fit in very well in the Plough. Number of tourists per year: I can guarantee almost nil.

Mon 27th November 2023 @ 07:20 Reply to this comment


Form is loading...

looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person


M / 60 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.


There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

If your comment box looks like this, I'm afraid I sometimes can't be bothered with all that palarver just to leave a comment.

63 mago
Another Angry Voice
the asshat lounge
Clutter From The Gutter
Crinklybee
Eryl Shields Ink
Exile on Pain Street
Fat Man On A Keyboard
gairnet provides: press of blll defunct, but retained for its quality
George Szirtes ditto
Infomaniac [NSFW]
The Joy of Bex
Laudator Temporis Acti
Leeds's Singing Organ-Grinder
The Most Difficult Thing Ever
Quillette
Strange Flowers
Trailer Park Refugee
Wonky Words

"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006

5:4
Bristol New Music
Desiring Progress Collection of links only
NewMusicBox
The Rambler
Resonance FM
Sequenza 21
Sound and Music
Talking Musicology defunct, but retained


  XML Feeds

CCMS
 

©2024 by looby. Don't steal anything or you'll have a 9st arts graduate to deal with.

Contact | Help | Blog template by Asevo | Build your own website!