This group of lads enjoying a pint before making there way to an away game was pictured in 1981 at the Greyhound pub in Oxford's Gloucster Green. Life was uncomplicated for a Greyhound boy, you, drank pints of bitter or lager in a pub full of men, you cultivated a 'tache and let your hair grow over your ears, you smoked B&H, if you wanted lunch it came in the shape of a cheese and onion or ham roll. Entertainment was provided by a half -size pool table and a juke box.Those were the days my friend...
1. No wives, girlfriends, parents, or children. You must go with a group of blokes, at least three them being called Dave, drink in a city centre chain pub then move to a crap pub near the ground by 2 o’clock at the latest.
2. A good breakfast will be essential, as you won’t be eating again till Tuesday. Wetherspoons offer a good fry up at a reasonable price, they open at 9am and are remarkably tolerant of large groups of oafs. Always have a pint of lager with your breakfast even if you don’t really want one.
3. Try and learn some of the players’ names – three or four will do, don’t worry to much about this as you won’t be talking about them much. Try and avoid using players’ nicknames, there’s nothing worse than a grown man saying something like, ‘Did you see Beano’s goal? Quality.’
4. Never wear the same outfit to consecutive matches and never wear a scarf or club shirt. If you really feel the need to show your allegiance a small enamel pin-badge works well. Ensure it is no larger than a five pence coin though, you want to keep it subtle, don’t you?
5. Allow plenty of time for drinking before the game. You’ll need at least seven pints beforehand to get in the right frame of mind. Always have a beer at half-time even if you don’t want one but never join the back of the queue, ask someone at the front to let you in, you should know enough people to be able to do this.
6. Always return to your crap pub after the game and plan the rest of your evening. Do not talk about the match for anything more than half an hour after it’s finished. Conversely, if there has been any “trouble” at the game this must be discussed endlessly throughout the course of the evening.
7. On away trips always make sure you arrive as early as possible, aim for 10 o’clock, this will necessitate the need to get up at a stupidly early hour and you may suffer ridicule from family members – don’t worry they will get used to it and soon view it as an endearing quirk in you character. Don’t worry about arriving early, you can still get into the ground after kick-off as normal.
8. The amount of games you attend in a season is purely a matter of personal choice, but if you only go to three in a season make sure they are the first and last home games, plus Boxing day when a small hip flask is quite acceptable. Don’t get into the habit of taking a flask every game though as you’ll be viewed as pretentious or, worse, a piss-head.
9. When travelling to a game on public transport always treat the staff and your fellow passengers with respect and avoid singing, swearing or lewd behaviour. On the return leg of the journey you should behave like a complete arsehole.
10. Remember the players have only been brought in because you and your friends are not good enough. If they’ve played well, clap them of the field and give them a ‘thumbs-up’. Please don’t idolise them, especially if they’re younger than you. On no account tolerate players who don’t try. You, the fans, are the most important people at the club, even if you do only go three times a year
Indian 1. Poppadom preach – Madonna
2. I’m your naan – Wham
3. Bhuna round the world and I can’t find my bhaji – Lisa Stansfield
4. Sag aloo – Black Lace
5. Living dall – Cliff Richard
6. Chicken tikka – Abba
7. Jalfrezi nights – Kiss
8. Rice, rice baby – Vanilla Rice
9. Dhansak with tears in my eyes – Ultravox
10. Tears on my pilau – Kylie Minogue
Chinese 1. Spring roll, sweet chariot – Traditional
2. Nothing compares tofu – Sinead O’Connor
3. Prawn toast run – Bruce Springsteen
4. It’s hoi sin – Pet Shop Boys
5. Won ton amera - Joseíto Fernández
6. Satay-day night – Whigfield
7. Bird hoi sin your soul – They might be giants
8. Soy seems to be the hardest word – Elton John
9. This chow mein man – The Smiths
10. Szechuan gone - Rainbow
With thanks to Michaela Bushell
What you'll need
One can of V8 vegetable juice, this is basically tomato juice with some other bits in it, you could use tomato juice but this fella will make you look slightly more clued up and if your flying solo one can is the perfect amount. On to the business end, vodka! Smirnoff red is alright or if you want a stronger drink upgrade to the blue. Avoid a vodka with to strong a taste such as Absolute as this will fight with the other ingredients and cause no end of problems You could add dry sherry, this is optional but will make you look mildly urbane and interesting Bryan Ferry would use it... probably. Now to spice it up, first you'll need Tabasco and Worcester sauce. you'll should have these in your cupboard unless you're some sort of odd ball or a vegan or something, ground black pepper, rock salt and fresh lemon juice. not the little plastic squirters please, and then the fun part a stick of celery!
How to do it
Find yourself a good chunky glass big enough to hold the can of V8 plus all the other boys, put in two or three ice cubes, the vodka, you'll need one large measure of vodka, two cap-fulls will do, a few dashes of Worcester and Tabasco, a squeeze of lemon, a pinch of salt and a little pepper, and a small dash of the sherry Bryan. Top up with the V8 then pour the whole lot into another glass or jug then back again (you don't want to shake this bad-boy as you don't want it too cold) Next cut the base and the tip of the celery into a point and stick it in the glass, slice a piece of lemon and float on top of the glass and top with some black pepper, stick in a couple of straws and you're away!
Welcome to 1983, the Conservative party are cruising to a landslide victory securing Margaret Thatcher her second term of office as anti nuclear demonstrators are on the march throughout Europe, drawing numbers unprecedented since the sixties. An IRA bomb kills six at Harrods in London and CDs, dismissed by purists as a fad, have become generally available on the high street, though it is still unusual to find more than two varieties of lettuce and one of tomato on supermarket shelves. Two years before Live Aid Duran Duran, The Human League and Spandau Ballet are fighting it out in the charts while elder statesman Bowie is back, 'putting on his red shoes and dancing the blues'. Me? I'm putting on black Doctor Marten's brogues, Levi's, a Donkey jacket and check shirt and waiting for a bus to the football to watch Oxford United.
A commotion, shouts, feet on the march a swaggering swarm getting nearer and nearer, some breaking into a jog, other groups noisily commandeering taxis, foreign exchange students I guess but as they get closer I can see they're sans rucksack and they're all males, young males, younger than me even (I'm a fresh faced 20) they certainly look foreign, alien even. What in God’s name are they wearing? Then I hear the accent that’s not Boulogne cutting through the early evening air, that's Bermondsey, this is Millwall our opponents this evening. It becomes clear that the main group are planning to catch the same bus as me, so it's all aboard and standing room only.
I now get a chance to have a proper look at my fellow traveller's clothes, you have to believe me here, I've seen it all, (and worn most of it) punk PVC and safety pins, Mod revival dead-mans' suits and the frilly shirts of the much maligned new romantics. But this is all new to me, this mob are dressed like a bunch of golfers! That’s right I said golfers, and middle aged ones at that. From the waist up they're wearing an assortment of plain or Argyle check jumpers and cardigans, some with polo shirts and many with, forgive me if I'm dreaming this, lightweight roll neck sweaters.
Everything seems to be in a pastel shade, blue, lemon yellow even the odd bit of pink. Logos are everywhere. Pringle lions fighting to get themselves noticed on mazes of diamonds, Lyle and Scott eagles perch on chests and strangest of all, Lacoste crocodiles scuttling round those pristine white roll necks. Down below its all faded or bleached jeans or brightly coloured corduroys (some have three inch splits in the outer hem) and the footwear of choice seems to be suede dessert boots or trainers in dyed suede or white leather.
Soon after this I learnt that the group I had seen were known as football casuals. Every club in the country had them or soon would and I thought they were the coolest thing I'd ever seen. Shortly after this I became one of their number and for my twenty first birthday I received a blue Pierre Cardin jumper and I bought myself a pair of Patrick trainers and a Benetton polo shirt. It took me a while to get right but by '85 I was swanning around in Paul Smith, Marc O'Polo and Retour and have dressed 'casually' on and off to this day. I still haven't worn a roll neck sweater or put on a pair of red shoes for that matter. That reminds me, how do you 'dance the blues’.
