A REAL FANS STORY

Firstly let me introduce myself, my name is Rupert Farringdon Forsyth recently I came across an article in the Times asking for REAL fans to write in some REAL stories for a REAL book about soccer.
Well I thought who better than one self. I have had occasion to visit the various stadia that my soccer team Cardiff City have occupied in recent years on at least several occasions and on one occasion along with my son Tarquin even attended something they call an away game.

My exciting story will base itself around this away game outing.
Tarquin and I had an early start and were awoken at 6.30 am, it really was exciting and set the tone for the day. A light breakfast was prepared for both of us and then our driver brought around the Daimler to the front entrance, the hamper was loaded and we set off to a car parking area opposite the Stadium known as Ninian Park, I may be mistaken, but I’m sure I remember Granpapa mention something about serving alongside a chap called Lord Ninian in the Crimean war, if that could be confirmed then my status as a REAL fan would be elevated to an even higher level I’m sure.

Tarquin and I had been allocated onto coach number 1 (which is no less than I’d expect) We took our position at the front end of the coach and informed the driver that he needed to load our hamper onto the luggage area, he did appear to mumble something under his breath, I didn’t quite catch what he said but rather than make an official complaint to the steward chappie (who incidentally spent most of the trip trying to sell something called raffle tickets for a free trip, but I thought this would be pointless as mummy took care of these sort of details and financial matters, so I assume everyone else is in the same situation, so why would they need another free trip) I decided to let it pass just in case the driver lost his job and had his family thrown out onto the streets.

What I did find peculiar was the fact that after only two hours of the journey we pulled off the motorway into something called a service station, I said to the driver surely after only two hours and less than 100 miles the coach could surely go further without the need for a service, but he simply mumbled something again and then disappeared I assume to locate the mechanic charged with servicing our coach. All our other fellow passengers then mysteriously disappear into something that looked like a cheap airport.

Tarquin and I decided to make the most of this poor situation and decide to partake of the picnic that had been prepared and stored in the wicker hamper, un-fortunately without the driver being available and the raffle ticket selling steward type chap also missing, finding someone to unload the hamper was proving awfully difficult.
Just as one was starting to despair we noticed some labourer type chaps wearing working clothes carrying the Logo Valley Rams, we assumed they must have been local labourers from the local farm.

I called them over and asked them to un-load our hamper, they (for some reason unbeknown to me) burst out laughing, then the short balding over weight one of the two asked me “what’s inside the hamper Buttie” or at least words to that affect.
I replied “the normal picnic, quails eggs, canapés, Prawn finger sandwiches the odd bottle or two of Moet Chandon Champaigne” They then replied “ no problem old chap, we’ll fetch it over now and put it down by there”.
I was touched by their helpfulness after all they must have been tired after working on the farm for at least 8 hours by then because it was approaching 12 pm. Tarquin opened the hamper with sheer excitement, it was such fun sitting on this well manicured embankment near this strange service garage that appeared to be so very busy.
However my day was almost ruined when it came to my notice the butler had obviously forgotten to pack any champagne even though I’d given him specific instructions.

I was so annoyed I telephoned him directly with a view to giving him notice of dismissal, however he assured me that when he’d loaded the hamper that very same morning there was most definitely two bottle of the 62 vintage packed and safely wrapped in the hamper, so it was a real mystery as to its disappearance.
Just as we were finishing our picnic we noticed a real vintage type coach passing us with at least another fifty or so of these farm labourers, Tarquin commented that they must pay these labourer chappies well because he was sure he seen some of the drinking Champaign directly out of the bottle with no sign of a fluted crystal glass in sight.
I will leave you at this stage, but promise to return shortly with the second chapter of my REAL fans story.

Your Mad Gwyn

Absolute fuckin class

Sounds like one of Cal's trips

Except for the Daimler, a Roller shirley!

Firstly let me introduce myself, my name is Rupert Farringdon Forsyth recently I came across an article in the Times asking for REAL fans to write in some REAL stories for a REAL book about soccer.
Well I thought who better than one self. I have had occasion to visit the various stadia that my soccer team Cardiff City have occupied in recent years on at least several occasions and on one occasion along with my son Tarquin even attended something they call an away game.

My exciting story will base itself around this away game outing.
Tarquin and I had an early start and were awoken at 6.30 am, it really was exciting and set the tone for the day. A light breakfast was prepared for both of us and then our driver brought around the Daimler to the front entrance, the hamper was loaded and we set off to a car parking area opposite the Stadium known as Ninian Park, I may be mistaken, but I’m sure I remember Granpapa mention something about serving alongside a chap called Lord Ninian in the Crimean war, if that could be confirmed then my status as a REAL fan would be elevated to an even higher level I’m sure.

Tarquin and I had been allocated onto coach number 1 (which is no less than I’d expect) We took our position at the front end of the coach and informed the driver that he needed to load our hamper onto the luggage area, he did appear to mumble something under his breath, I didn’t quite catch what he said but rather than make an official complaint to the steward chappie (who incidentally spent most of the trip trying to sell something called raffle tickets for a free trip, but I thought this would be pointless as mummy took care of these sort of details and financial matters, so I assume everyone else is in the same situation, so why would they need another free trip) I decided to let it pass just in case the driver lost his job and had his family thrown out onto the streets.

What I did find peculiar was the fact that after only two hours of the journey we pulled off the motorway into something called a service station, I said to the driver surely after only two hours and less than 100 miles the coach could surely go further without the need for a service, but he simply mumbled something again and then disappeared I assume to locate the mechanic charged with servicing our coach. All our other fellow passengers then mysteriously disappear into something that looked like a cheap airport.

Tarquin and I decided to make the most of this poor situation and decide to partake of the picnic that had been prepared and stored in the wicker hamper, un-fortunately without the driver being available and the raffle ticket selling steward type chap also missing, finding someone to unload the hamper was proving awfully difficult.
Just as one was starting to despair we noticed some labourer type chaps wearing working clothes carrying the Logo Valley Rams, we assumed they must have been local labourers from the local farm.

I called them over and asked them to un-load our hamper, they (for some reason unbeknown to me) burst out laughing, then the short balding over weight one of the two asked me “what’s inside the hamper Buttie” or at least words to that affect.
I replied “the normal picnic, quails eggs, canapés, Prawn finger sandwiches the odd bottle or two of Moet Chandon Champaigne” They then replied “ no problem old chap, we’ll fetch it over now and put it down by there”.
I was touched by their helpfulness after all they must have been tired after working on the farm for at least 8 hours by then because it was approaching 12 pm. Tarquin opened the hamper with sheer excitement, it was such fun sitting on this well manicured embankment near this strange service garage that appeared to be so very busy.
However my day was almost ruined when it came to my notice the butler had obviously forgotten to pack any champagne even though I’d given him specific instructions.

I was so annoyed I telephoned him directly with a view to giving him notice of dismissal, however he assured me that when he’d loaded the hamper that very same morning there was most definitely two bottle of the 62 vintage packed and safely wrapped in the hamper, so it was a real mystery as to its disappearance.
Just as we were finishing our picnic we noticed a real vintage type coach passing us with at least another fifty or so of these farm labourers, Tarquin commented that they must pay these labourer chappies well because he was sure he seen some of the drinking Champaign directly out of the bottle with no sign of a fluted crystal glass in sight.
I will leave you at this stage, but promise to return shortly with the second chapter of my REAL fans story.

farkin hell rupert

pereguin and i nearly choked on our prawns and pimms.

that is the best post i have read on here, brilliant gwyn

Don't tell me, that was Mansfeild away

i can only presume you have changed the names to save the emmbaressment

thats a bwilliant stowy there Wupert old boy , maybe u should write a book about your tales of mis-adventure with young Tarkers on your twavels ..................... " The Rise and Fall of the City Slickers ! "

Firstly let me introduce myself, my name is Rupert Farringdon Forsyth recently I came across an article in the Times asking for REAL fans to write in some REAL stories for a REAL book about soccer.
Well I thought who better than one self. I have had occasion to visit the various stadia that my soccer team Cardiff City have occupied in recent years on at least several occasions and on one occasion along with my son Tarquin even attended something they call an away game.

My exciting story will base itself around this away game outing.
Tarquin and I had an early start and were awoken at 6.30 am, it really was exciting and set the tone for the day. A light breakfast was prepared for both of us and then our driver brought around the Daimler to the front entrance, the hamper was loaded and we set off to a car parking area opposite the Stadium known as Ninian Park, I may be mistaken, but I’m sure I remember Granpapa mention something about serving alongside a chap called Lord Ninian in the Crimean war, if that could be confirmed then my status as a REAL fan would be elevated to an even higher level I’m sure.

Tarquin and I had been allocated onto coach number 1 (which is no less than I’d expect) We took our position at the front end of the coach and informed the driver that he needed to load our hamper onto the luggage area, he did appear to mumble something under his breath, I didn’t quite catch what he said but rather than make an official complaint to the steward chappie (who incidentally spent most of the trip trying to sell something called raffle tickets for a free trip, but I thought this would be pointless as mummy took care of these sort of details and financial matters, so I assume everyone else is in the same situation, so why would they need another free trip) I decided to let it pass just in case the driver lost his job and had his family thrown out onto the streets.

What I did find peculiar was the fact that after only two hours of the journey we pulled off the motorway into something called a service station, I said to the driver surely after only two hours and less than 100 miles the coach could surely go further without the need for a service, but he simply mumbled something again and then disappeared I assume to locate the mechanic charged with servicing our coach. All our other fellow passengers then mysteriously disappear into something that looked like a cheap airport.

Tarquin and I decided to make the most of this poor situation and decide to partake of the picnic that had been prepared and stored in the wicker hamper, un-fortunately without the driver being available and the raffle ticket selling steward type chap also missing, finding someone to unload the hamper was proving awfully difficult.
Just as one was starting to despair we noticed some labourer type chaps wearing working clothes carrying the Logo Valley Rams, we assumed they must have been local labourers from the local farm.

I called them over and asked them to un-load our hamper, they (for some reason unbeknown to me) burst out laughing, then the short balding over weight one of the two asked me “what’s inside the hamper Buttie” or at least words to that affect.
I replied “the normal picnic, quails eggs, canapés, Prawn finger sandwiches the odd bottle or two of Moet Chandon Champaigne” They then replied “ no problem old chap, we’ll fetch it over now and put it down by there”.
I was touched by their helpfulness after all they must have been tired after working on the farm for at least 8 hours by then because it was approaching 12 pm. Tarquin opened the hamper with sheer excitement, it was such fun sitting on this well manicured embankment near this strange service garage that appeared to be so very busy.
However my day was almost ruined when it came to my notice the butler had obviously forgotten to pack any champagne even though I’d given him specific instructions.

I was so annoyed I telephoned him directly with a view to giving him notice of dismissal, however he assured me that when he’d loaded the hamper that very same morning there was most definitely two bottle of the 62 vintage packed and safely wrapped in the hamper, so it was a real mystery as to its disappearance.
Just as we were finishing our picnic we noticed a real vintage type coach passing us with at least another fifty or so of these farm labourers, Tarquin commented that they must pay these labourer chappies well because he was sure he seen some of the drinking Champaign directly out of the bottle with no sign of a fluted crystal glass in sight.
I will leave you at this stage, but promise to return shortly with the second chapter of my REAL fans story.

excellent gwyn i really got into that lol.. only bad point is waiting for the second chapter

Very good.

Magnificent! I'd expect none other, though, from the Officer and Gentleman you undoubtedly are.

StT.

Brilliant Gwyn.

I am going to have pay my grandson double pocket money so he can become a 5 star real fan.

Firstly let me introduce myself, my name is Rupert Farringdon Forsyth recently I came across an article in the Times asking for REAL fans to write in some REAL stories for a REAL book about soccer.
Well I thought who better than one self. I have had occasion to visit the various stadia that my soccer team Cardiff City have occupied in recent years on at least several occasions and on one occasion along with my son Tarquin even attended something they call an away game.

My exciting story will base itself around this away game outing.
Tarquin and I had an early start and were awoken at 6.30 am, it really was exciting and set the tone for the day. A light breakfast was prepared for both of us and then our driver brought around the Daimler to the front entrance, the hamper was loaded and we set off to a car parking area opposite the Stadium known as Ninian Park, I may be mistaken, but I’m sure I remember Granpapa mention something about serving alongside a chap called Lord Ninian in the Crimean war, if that could be confirmed then my status as a REAL fan would be elevated to an even higher level I’m sure.

Tarquin and I had been allocated onto coach number 1 (which is no less than I’d expect) We took our position at the front end of the coach and informed the driver that he needed to load our hamper onto the luggage area, he did appear to mumble something under his breath, I didn’t quite catch what he said but rather than make an official complaint to the steward chappie (who incidentally spent most of the trip trying to sell something called raffle tickets for a free trip, but I thought this would be pointless as mummy took care of these sort of details and financial matters, so I assume everyone else is in the same situation, so why would they need another free trip) I decided to let it pass just in case the driver lost his job and had his family thrown out onto the streets.

What I did find peculiar was the fact that after only two hours of the journey we pulled off the motorway into something called a service station, I said to the driver surely after only two hours and less than 100 miles the coach could surely go further without the need for a service, but he simply mumbled something again and then disappeared I assume to locate the mechanic charged with servicing our coach. All our other fellow passengers then mysteriously disappear into something that looked like a cheap airport.

Tarquin and I decided to make the most of this poor situation and decide to partake of the picnic that had been prepared and stored in the wicker hamper, un-fortunately without the driver being available and the raffle ticket selling steward type chap also missing, finding someone to unload the hamper was proving awfully difficult.
Just as one was starting to despair we noticed some labourer type chaps wearing working clothes carrying the Logo Valley Rams, we assumed they must have been local labourers from the local farm.

I called them over and asked them to un-load our hamper, they (for some reason unbeknown to me) burst out laughing, then the short balding over weight one of the two asked me “what’s inside the hamper Buttie” or at least words to that affect.
I replied “the normal picnic, quails eggs, canapés, Prawn finger sandwiches the odd bottle or two of Moet Chandon Champaigne” They then replied “ no problem old chap, we’ll fetch it over now and put it down by there”.
I was touched by their helpfulness after all they must have been tired after working on the farm for at least 8 hours by then because it was approaching 12 pm. Tarquin opened the hamper with sheer excitement, it was such fun sitting on this well manicured embankment near this strange service garage that appeared to be so very busy.
However my day was almost ruined when it came to my notice the butler had obviously forgotten to pack any champagne even though I’d given him specific instructions.

I was so annoyed I telephoned him directly with a view to giving him notice of dismissal, however he assured me that when he’d loaded the hamper that very same morning there was most definitely two bottle of the 62 vintage packed and safely wrapped in the hamper, so it was a real mystery as to its disappearance.
Just as we were finishing our picnic we noticed a real vintage type coach passing us with at least another fifty or so of these farm labourers, Tarquin commented that they must pay these labourer chappies well because he was sure he seen some of the drinking Champaign directly out of the bottle with no sign of a fluted crystal glass in sight.
I will leave you at this stage, but promise to return shortly with the second chapter of my REAL fans story.

Gwyn, You must send Tarquins story to Gethin Jenkins after all he wants to publish a book about 'real' fans

BTW Good night Saturday mysellf and the Mrs really enjoyed it and the Bow was going down a treat hope you raised a good sum of money!

Gwyn, You must send Tarquins story to Gethin Jenkins after all he wants to publish a book about 'real' fans

BTW Good night Saturday mysellf and the Mrs really enjoyed it and the Bow was going down a treat hope you raised a good sum of money!

superb !!

tarquin and papa 's travels would be a great kiddies programme for Cbeebees, aimed at real soccer enthusiasts and their offspring. 3 cheers for Gwyn on a spiffing article of fun and frollics. hip hip, hip hip , hip hip.

Part 2 follows.

Wheres part 2 Gwyn