Oxford/Swindon what really happened

This is a true account from someone who was there. We turned up foam handed at half eight in the morning 120 good lads, that was just the lot on the train, we had thirty who thumbed it to Burford dressed as Tintin characters and then got Sedan chairs into the town centre. There were another 40 who hired a long boat in Lechlade for the weekend then cycled in some disguised Charls Hawtrey in Carry on camping, others as Leroy from Fame and a few sporting Halloween masks fashioned from egg boxes, Simple Minds T shirts and karate trousers, this lot were proper.
On arriving at Swindon station we were greeted by four ehem, OB, a Fraser from Dad's army, tribute act, a lost boy scout and a youth distributing leaflets for Dominic's Pizza (open seven days a week, phone for our latest deals) on leaving the station we formed a human pyramid with small-hand Pete from Abingdon taking his place on the top proudly waving a carton of Kia Ora.

So the walk to the ground began the cans of Hofmeister were cracked open and after singing a few rousing choruses of Master of the House from Les Miserables and a selection of Flock of Seagulls B sides we were ready to parlez. On reaching the County ground hotel we were dissapointed to find only the cleaner, barman and lady who does the sanitary towel disposal thing in attendance, to be fair she looked game as f*ck but we gave her a squeeze, say what you want but we aint bullys.

The Merlin pub was most impressive, decked out in a medieval style with witches, lepers, amd pox riddem dwarfs all in attendance. It was impossible to get a drink in there so me and some other football casuals played the traditional game 'who have you come as?' I was sussed early doors in my Matelot/Breton top, Captain Pugwash of course!

We managed to get a pint after Mad Steve feigned a panic attack at the bar and said he wouldn't move 'til he got five pints of Skol and a DoubleDiamond shandy for awkward Dave, one of the older lads from Thame. We were just starting a game of charades outside when along came Merlin the guvnor we thought he'd sussed us for taking the piss out of one of the bar staff who looked like Ruth Madoc, but he said he thought we were alright, and conjured up a couple of rounds for us! To be fair he said we wasn't Swindon but was one of the original Malvern valley casuals, shit hot Lacoste cape on him to be fair, On the way to the ground there was f*ck-all apart from the usual stand off by the town end over who had the most obscure waistcoats, and esoteric nicknames, you know the score, anyway the rest is history as they say and the result will be remembered for a long time.