Yes, I much prefer sitting with vegan snowflakes who appeared when we went up to the Prem. No idea about any songs and obviously get mortally offended when I start a rousing rendition of "Your gonna get your f ucking heads kicked in" when the opposition inevitably score. Cressida and Tarquin make little Toby and Moonlight wear ear defenders and focus on their algae pick n mix.
I fucking miss those happy days of night matches under the lights. The constant flickering of matches and lighters as opposed to fucking mobile phones. The smell of smoke, swaying crowds, scarves round wrists, Bovril at half time. The bloke walking round putting the half time scores up on the cricket side. Motor cars driving round pitch side and blue invalid carriages parked up at the corner of Cherry Street and Bramall Lane by the corner flag.
Limme and Family Cookin', Ilkley Moor Bhat at, Lynn Anderson banging out pre kick off and the beautiful aesthetic of the parabolic curve created by the streams of gracefully unravelling shithouse paper and knicked bus ticket rolls arcing from the kop onto the pitch.
UTB
