• Herbert and Bertha
    rarely rose from their seats, at scythings of stars didn’t flinch. Impassive, ever-present for mid week coach journeys to the Yorkshire coast, losses at Scarborough and Grimsby, reflections dark models of equanimity, aviation fuel in the flask beyond the gables of Archibald Leitch, still on the wooden seats hoping strangers find a lift, shaking hands […]
  • The Great Unveiling
    No one was there for The Great Unveiling The stadium was empty save for the men from The Eastern Daily as X raised a scarf to say that when Y phoned there was no hesitation, that he loved the fens, the broads, the Suffolk Coast, Southwold, Dunwich bells underwater: Kings Lynn sugar He’s been to […]
  • The Chiropractor
    Early rays form car-park shadows for our pre-shift game. The chiropractor floats balls onto roof tiles, lets them descend for diagnosis. You’re Sheringham, I’m Shilton diving on windscreens. When you scissor-kick into our chemical waste, where are you aching? when you Rabona into empty loading bays When you rainbow flick, lose the ball on our […]
  • Grass Roots
    Instinct control on a pitch so waterlogged we could have kayaked: well just forget it. Who wouldn’t slide in where they shouldn’t, emerging from a coal mine lagoon every form of slate seems to blacken? Make a wall and break it up. Huddle after kick-off so the opposition run in V formation, move in echelons […]
  • Mudchute
    They had to name it Mudchute so no fans would go there, isolate the station like the Isle of Poplars. Pitches where Millwall Rovers played and council tenants co-exist with a Docklands Museum in place of windmills, penthouses for the nouveaux riches and Mudchute Farm for grazing sheep in South London, north of the river, […]