Cod Almighty | Diary

A diary more honoured in the breach than the observance

18 July 2016

Middle-Aged Diary has been away for three weeks, and I haven't had my phone on. I did find out that when I'm outside the UK, my 'phone' works far better as an internet and email-accessing device than it does as an actual phone. That's worth bearing in mind when you are trying to make arrangements to find your accommodation. It was a fine holiday, but that's despite the few hours we spent on two separate occasions wondering where the hell we were going to sleep that night. But that's not really about Grimsby.

It was in part a fine holiday because for the first time in my life I could say "Galles" instead of "Inglese" and not be met by looks of incomprehension from our hosts and impatience from my English wife and son. "Si, Gareth Bale" was the only addition occasionally required. The quarter-final I watched in a bar with a Belgian couple at the next table and two Welsh couples at the table beyond. It's been a good year for 3-1 wins with the final goal scored so late as to be almost conclusive.

"Almost" because to the natural pessimism of the Grimbarian you have to add another measure for a Welsh upbringing. You may have thrown all caution to the winds and celebrated with Nathan Arnold, but I waited until that last minute of injury time had been played out, thank you very much.

For those who care, both Town's play-off final and Wales' quarter-final win were lifetime milestones. Thousands, and hundreds of thousands, will never forget how they felt during and after each game. Each is a mass event, yet each is experienced individually, whether it is behind the goal or alongside the touchline (because even where you are in the ground changes the personal significance of each moment); watching on TV or a laptop; listening to a radio; or checking your phone for score updates with percussive regularity.

There are many ways to be a fan. It is the emotion that unites us, rather than how much money we spend, or how we express ourselves. When Southampton won the FA Cup, I remember Lawrie McMenemy saying if it had been a northern club, there'd have been dancing in the streets. A Saints fan rebuked him: "We were dancing in our kitchens." Both are valid. And as someone with two left feet, let me add that even dancing is not a requirement.

In other news, a supposedly "youthful" Town side beat Alfreton 1-0 over the weekend. As, following my three weeks of isolation, some of the few names I recognised among the players were Craig Disley, Andy Warrington and Paul Hurst, I can only assume this was a trial match for the Ancient Mariners Walking Football Club.