|
Breton Humors
webmaster |
Molly's Boy
Down The Long Road
The Belgiums had no mercy
Excerpt 6
I found Brussels to be a magical city. It had grandeur and history and architecture and culture and wonderful cafes and bars. We booked into a very nice hotel in the old city and after a shower and evening meal we arranged to meet in the foyer and sample the delights of the night life. I stuck with the manager of the stores, Harry Ridge, for he had been there before and knew all the interesting clubs and watering holes. We had a fantastic evening and wandered from restaurant to cafe to bar each one more atmospheric than the last. Harry suggested that we finish up with a last drink in the hotel bar and it was only then that I realised that it was nearly six o'clock in the morning and I was due to play football in a short while. I had hardly laid down on my bed and had not even got off to sleep when I was awakened for breakfast and to say the least I was not feeling in good form. In fact I was feeling wrecked and I wondered how the hell I was going to get through the rest of the day. The breakfast was a delightful continental spread, mainly self-service, with all manner of delicacies to tempt the appetite. I could hardly eat a thing and nibbled at some toast and cheese more to appear to be joining in than wanting the food. The fresh croissants smelled great and aroma of the ground coffee curled and circled in the morning air but they were wasted on me.
A bus arrived and took us to the football pitch and it was a small stadium with a seated stand on one side. Some of the other teams were playing ahead of us and it gave me a chance to have a breather and get my attitude right before facing the Belgiums who were our first opponents. Our game eventually started and the Belgiums were taking their football deadly serious. They raced up and down like whippets and chased after every ball as if their lives depended on it. When it came to challenging an opponent for a ball and especially when I had to run a short or any distance I was knackered. I was in a bad state and many of my team mates were not a lot better but at least they were not still half-drunk. The Belgiums had no mercy; they scored and scored and I think the referee disallowed a couple of good goals to keep the score at some sort of reasonable level. Even with this kind accountancy they still won by about twelve goals and I don't think we ever got the ball past their goalkeeper. I was glad when that first game was over and I was able to sip a couple of beers in the stadium bar and begin to feel somewhat human again.
In the course of time we played the other teams but they were much more into the spirit of the competition and whereas they beat us they did not rub it in and even allowed us to score a couple of goals. We had a very grand reception that night with aperitifs of green chartreuse, which soon mellowed the mood, and we sat down to a gorgeous meal. Presentations were given to the winning teams and Honda UK as usual picked up the booby prize of a tiny cup. We did not care; we had gone to enjoy ourselves and that we had done even if I had celebrated a little too well and not too wisely. Before our departure back to dear old blighty we were taken on a coach tour of Brussels and its surrounds and we sang Irish rebel songs and Cockney favourites to the accompaniment of numerous swigs out a bottle of brandy passed around by the shipping manager. We got back to England and because it was a holiday weekend we had time to acclimatise ourselves before going back to work on the Tuesday.
We had further trips to Rotterdam and Paris. I loved the colour of the continent and the gaiety of sitting outside the cafes and watching the world attractively strolling past. There appeared to be an extra dimension to living abroad; the people seemed jollier and have a greater passion for life and England and London on reflection were dull, cold and monochrome. Paris was indeed gay. We visited Notre Dame and heard a choir fill the basilica with awesome sound and beauty and appreciated the verve and style of the French especially with the food, which was served alive and appealing. Having come last again in the football competition we were taken on a night river trip down the Seine with a buffet and drinks on board. It was magical to float along the Parisian banks and pass under the old bridges with the colours of the lanterns of our boat casting glistening shadows to every side. As we floated along late into the night one of our party cast the little cup we had received for being the eternal runners up over board and it was swept along in the swirling currents to find a new home maybe on the white sandy beach of some deserted tropical island paradise. We were all glad to be shut of it.
All texts are ©1999
top
Celt, Breton , Humors, Irish, Yan, Kraffe, Liam, Purcell, Diary, Diaries, Poetry, Novels, French, Foreign, Legion, Networking, Computing, Private, Club, Award, Brittany, Britany, Britons, Brittons, Brithonic, Bretagne, Breizh, Vreizh, Izel,free, love, safe, new, benefit, gain, money, happy, glad, proven, guarantee, fast, results, discover, how you, how to, now, fun, value, easy, you, healthy, natural, magic, secret, comfortable, proud, secure, solution, Marina, Evenmarcz, our, kids, history, geography, politic, peace, military, soldier, army, food, meal, recipe, eat
|
