Morecambe 2 – County 0
Report by Phil Robbie

DAY ONE

Pre Match Booze Up….

The Frog, Mr Wilkes, Sliding Billy, Dave Robbie and myself boarded the 9:37 to Lancaster.  Mr Wilkes resplendent with man-bag (I kid you not!) and the rest of us sporting the usual County overnight kit of holdalls, rucksacks and in all cases, matching luggage of two bargain booze carrier bags.  Disgusted expressions on the faces of the fellow passengers as a variety of breakfast ales fizzed and popped open.

It wasn’t long before three of the five of us were scrabbling through the doors of Lancaster station for an emergency ciggie before heading off via the Hornby Flyer to Morecambe international station.

A quick trot down the prom bought us digs as £25 per head and with bags dumped in various attics it was off to the Ranch boozer.  The Ranch models itself on a Wild West saloon and due to the run down nature of Morecambe sea front had the feel of a ghost town bar.

Sat outside smoking and of course drinking, the conversation turned to health, or to be more precise the lack of it (we all had colds).  Dave Robbie decided to make the point that when he was a child he never suffered from illness at all, even when he was thrown into sheep shit after trying to ride his uncle’s sheep.  Dave now regrets this conversation for obvious reasons and asked me not to mention it in this report.  I’ll try Dave, but I can’t promise anything.

Next it was a mini pub crawl down the sea front with no sea where we bumped into County stalwart Stewart from the Official Supporters Club.  He’d not slept for over 48 hours as he’d arrived direct from Vegas (LA not Staly) and was struggling with the culture shock of it all.  We left him mumbling incoherently into his fish and chips and headed for the town centre.  Dave Robbie’s internal sat nav let us down and after taking a long cut to the County filled bars we settled down for a proper session, the eventuality of myself and the Sliding one staggering from a cab a mere hundred yards from where we’d set off from.

The Match

On to the match and after some argie-bargie at the turnstiles featuring a comedy steward, we were stood anticipating some “top soccer action”

The residents of Morecambe have complained about the polo tower on the sea front.  Apparently it was built as a novelty viewing platform but hasn’t worked for years.  Some residents have gone as far as organising a boycott of polo mints in the local area (imagine the panic during the emergency meeting at Nestles?!)  Even local councillor Ron Sands has pledged to write to Nestle in an attempt to either “pull it down” or “do it up”.  What the good councillor failed to realise in his tirade against Nestle is that the 120 foot tower actually belongs to Morrisons who incidentally are known locally for refusing a 72 year old man a bottle of wine as he didn’t have ID.

One wonders how the locals would react when they notice that atop said tower are two damn big mobile phone masts?

Back on the lash….

After the match it was back to the pubs ending up back in the Ranch.  We seemed to be the only people in Morecambe that escaped the curfew as we sat outside, drinking and smoking.  That is apart from two fellow County fans who were so pissed they couldn’t out pace a mentally ill old woman that was mithering them for beers.

So, to a welcome nights kip back at the digs.  After myself and Mr Wilkes somehow managed to get lost on the landing we eventually retired for kip, apart from Dave Robbie that is who spent the night in the armchair due to some unwelcome “guests” in his bed (and I always thought he liked the beatles?)

DAY TWO

Breakfast, train to Lancaster, Wetherspoons at 9:00, lose Froggy and Mr Wilkes, find Froggy and Mr Wilkes, another pub, another pub, lose Froggy and Mr Wilkes, go to pub near station, Froggy and Mr Wilkes apparently lose luggage (including man bag), Froggy and Mr Wilkes apparently find luggage (including man bag) via various pubs, Sliding Billy, Dave Robbie and myself board train home.

No sign of Froggy and Mr Wilkes.

Phil.