Or
ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME?
THE CRUSADERS - EUROPEAN CHAMPIONS CUP 1976
After successfully winning the league title culminating in a 3.1 away win at Wolves. Liverpool where entered into the European Cup. Our first round opponents were the Belfast part-time team the Crusaders, the first leg was to be played at Anfield with the return leg away in Belfast two weeks later.
First Round First Leg – Anfield 7.30 kick-off - 14 September 1976
In the build up to the inaugural game, it was suggested by the media that Liverpool would create yet another scoring record and that Norris McQuirter would soom be legging it back to Roy Castle with another record breaker. Obviously Bob Paisley and the rest of the backroom staff knew this might not be the case, and such talk was soon rubbished as everyone knew that what the Crusaders lacked in skill, they would more than compensate for this with a super human determination to succeed as a team.
The newspapers adopted Billy Johnston the Crusaders manager, as a sort of icon representing the underdog in this David versus Goliath encounter. He proudly boasted that his team would come to Anfield and defend for all there worth, he pinned his hopes on a tried and tested game plan which was introduced to stifle the Liverpool forwards. The talk of record making had quite clearly hurt those involved with the Crusaders, a low scoring defeat would in itself be a moral victory and dispel any need for the Guinness book of records. Containment was the key to any possible success.
On a cold, damp September evening walking up to Anfield the air was full of expectancy as we thought another goal scoring feast was in store, surely all this talk about containment and defending was just paper talk?
Once in the Spion Kop it was noticeable that this was not going to be a sell-out, the Annie road, Kemlyn and Main stands where very sparsely populated whilst the Kop was three quarters full. The “restricted” seats Kop end of the Main stand housed around 20-30 Crusaders supporters, the “banter” soon flowed as the Liverpudlians welcomed their counterparts from Belfast. On the pitch the Crusaders played to the expectations of Billy Johnston, as they “to their credit” silenced the home crowd and frustrated Liverpool’s flowing style of football. Very early on in the game we had a shot against the crossbar, this was to prove typical of the football we played that night.
After 20 – 25 minutes Liverpool where awarded a dubious penalty, after a foul on John Toshack, the spot kick was safely put away by Mr Reliable himself Phil Neal.
As the mist rose from the Spion Kop we celebrated in the way that only the Spion Kop could, whilst the Crusaders supporters continued to sing their heads off in the Main Stand. This is probably one of the most one-sided games of football I have ever witnessed at Anfield, as we watched a full 90 minutes of wave after wave of Liverpool attacks which saw John Toshack head in the only other goal of the night after an hour or so.
At the end of the game the Crusaders team walked up to the Kop and received an ovation to acknowledge their efforts and commitment.
To their credit, the Crusaders visited Anfield with the sole intention of not replacing Stromsgodset in the record books and to gain a respectable score line. They did succeed in this without having a single shot at goal or gaining a single corner kick. The only time they came out of their own half was to change ends at half-time.
Walking out of the Kop that night, we clapped the now standing Crusaders supporters stood directly above us in the Main stand, you have to give credit were its due. As you may imagine, the national press took great satisfaction in ridiculing Liverpool’s performance the days that followed. On the bus home a couple of the lads complained about the score line “That was shxte, fancy only beating a load of part time no-marks two nil”…………… “We won didn’t we, what’s your problem?” I replied. A heated discussion then took place as questions where asked about individuals loyalty to the redmen.
Liverpool 2
Neal (penalty 18) Toshack (65)
Ray Clemence
Phil Neal
Joey Jones
Tommy Smith
Ray Kennedy
Emlyn Hughes
Kevin Keegan
David Johnson
John Toshack
Ian Callaghan
Crusaders 0
Roy McDonald
Bob Strain
Jeff Gorman
Walter McFarland
Bob Gillespie
John McPolin
George Lennox
Ron McAteer
Paul Kirk
Drew Cooke
George McCann
Attendance 22,442
The next week whilst with a few of the lads, Ian suggested going over to Belfast for the return game. We all sat in stony silence as we each considered what to do, I had not even contemplated going over to Belfast this in my eyes would be a one-off opportunity. No one said anything this was to be expected? Ian would go anywhere to follow the reds and he was always the one who would go with me, when no-one else felt like going. Out of loyalty or just because none of the others would go I felt obliged to go with him after all he never ever let me down. I said “lets price it out first, then lets see how much it costs”, Ian said he would ring around in the morning and find out the cheapest price. I half-heartedly agreed and to be honest never gave it another thought until Ian raised it again one dinnertime at work.
The best price was just about within our means, but my real concern was what would it be like over there. Obviously we were aware of the “troubles” over in Ireland, as we had all watched over the years, the nightly coverage on the television news. I sought advice from my parents, both of whom agreed “If you want to go over and watch the match, you go over”. Ian finally convinced me that it was worth a visit, as he had family over there and that things weren’t as bad as what was portrayed on the telly.
We sat down and discussed the best options available to us, we soon agreed that our trip would be via plane to Belfast Airport arriving on the Monday afternoon and leaving for home later on the Wednesday evening. We booked our plane tickets and shot off up to Anfield to buy match tickets.
As per usual, the ticket office didn’t want to sell us any they only wanted to sell tickets to people who had made arrangements to travel via the official Liverpool FC organised tour. We explained that we were members of the “official” Anfield Special Club and that we had travelled many many times with them. We asked could we see the manager and after much ado we produced our ASC membership cards and she finally authorised our tickets, plus one spare one for Alex. The annoying thing was we knew her face and you could tell she recognised us, officialdom gone mad?
Anyway tickets sorted, now to sort accommodation. Ian rang his uncle over in Belfast and explained we were coming over for the match and wanted somewhere cheap to stay. The next day a call was received offering us a family run hotel, this was of course acceptable Ian’s uncle paid the deposit for us and posted the details over to us.
As the days moved nearer we sorted all our things out and soon had everything boxed off apart from the Airplane tickets, after a couple of telephone calls we were promised that they would be posted by the Wednesday. On the Thursday they duly arrived at Ian’s address only with Manchester Airport as the departure point. We had specifically requested a departure from Liverpool Airport and these dimwits had messed it up. More telephone calls were made and we eventually managed to get them swopped for Speke, we did ask but never received any confirmation that our flights would be from Liverpool.
Bags packed best bib and tucker at the ready, an a couple of bob in your pocket and we were off. Not before me Dad managed to slip me a few quid, I explained “thanks, but I don’t need it, I’m sorted”. He just said “take it, you might need it for food or taxi’s whatever” I laughed, shook my head and said “whatever”, “Oh there will be plenty of whatever’s that’s ” He grinned a knowing smile as I left our house.
We arrived at Speke Airport two hours before the scheduled take off time because we anticipated we may have a bit of trouble with our booking, Liverpool airport was a bit like Moldova in those days. As you may expect the reception area at Liverpool didn’t have us down for the flight from Speke, we produced all the names and telephone numbers of the people we had contacted and after half an hour or so our flights were finally confirmed.
An hour to kill, what would any 20 year old lad do? Time for a couple of beers in the airport bar - as you do. We soon got talking to a few other reds who were travelling over on the same plane, one of them said “you will love Belfast, its just like Liverpool, only they speak differently than us”. I thought, I’d reserve judgement on that one until we are over there. Flying towards Belfast all you could see was green countryside; it looked very tranquil and surreal, not what I had in my minds eye.
We landed at Belfast airport, said “ta ra” to the other Liverpool lads and jumped a taxi to our hotel. The taxi driver was superb, he welcomed us to Belfast and said how everyone was excited about Liverpool F C playing over there. Travelling through Belfast was like travelling through Liverpool, the same sort of housing, the same sort of feel about it, this surprised me.
We arrived at our Hotel, and again were made to feel very welcome, we were booked in by a cracking looking lady called Irene, we were asked if we would like an evening meal for free as someone had failed to turn up and it would only go the waste. A quick look around the hotel room, a telephone call to Ian’s uncle and down to feed our faces. The meal was enormous I was seriously concerned that I wouldn’t have enough room for ale later that night. Irene looked stunning, and I know what I fancied for afters!
As we sat in the hotel bar Ian’s uncle arrived, strooth! He must have been about 7 foot tall, a quick introduction and a couple more ales soon broke the ice as Alex told us what it was like living over in Belfast. “You’ll love it here, its just like Liverpool” I’d heard that one a few times already. We paid Alex for our accommodation and he paid Ian for his match ticket, Ian kept his ticket for safekeeping.
Anyway, if your going to visit another City you won’t find out about it unless you have a mooch about time to sample the delights of some other bars. We left out hotel and jumped in a taxi into the City centre, a pub was spotted and we made our way directly to it. It was noticeable that there was a difference in our clothes style, most of the young lads that we saw were skinheads. This had been a fad in Liverpool in the late 60’s and early 70’s, and obviously was still the “in-thing” in Belfast.
We walked in this pub and the place went quiet as we made our way to the lounge bar, you could the stares burning a hole the back of your head, strangers in a strange pub. The bar-man asked were where we from “Liverpool” we replied, he looked straight at us and said, “anyone from Liverpool, is welcome here”. You could feel the atmosphere relax as the people carried on with their conversations, we certainly felt a bit more at ease.
The three of us sat down and Alex told us that this was one of the pubs he frequented. He then went on to explain how he had met this girl in Liverpool in the late 60’s, courted her, moved across to Belfast in 1972 and eventually they got married. Alex still had a strong scouse accent, but it was tinged with a hint of the Irish brogue.
As the ale flowed we obviously relaxed and so did the locals, soon blokes in their 50’s grabbed us and shook our hands most saying they had visited Liverpool and how much they loved the City and the football clubs. It was funny to look at Alex he was taller than most of the Irish people even though he was sitting down. It surprised me that most of the locals were little people very few of them were over six feet tall.
I found the Belfast accent quite easy to understand at first, but as the night progressed and the pints began to take their toll it became harder and harder for us to understand each other. Tales of Liverpool’s famous past soon filled the air as we all relayed our favourite stories and yarns. Every now and then either singularly or in-groups “Liverpool anthems” would boom around the pub, the strange thing about this was these were all old fellas like yer dad, yet they had so much enthusiasm for us and anything Liverpool.
We had noticed that the local young lads, mainly skinhead types, were occupying the bar area playing pool whilst we had a laugh in the lounge area. This skinhead walked to us and said “You from Liverpool” , I just thought to myself here we go, its gonna go off here, “yes why?” – “that’s brilliant” came the reply I love Liverpool?
We stood having a gab with this bloke as one by one all his mates came across and talked to us. Most of them said they were Liverpool supporters, some Everton supporters, some Spurs and a couple Man United supporters and a Hib’s fan. The Hibernian supporter was superb we got on with him no problem. We told him how we had been to Edinburgh to watch the reds and how well we got on with the Hib’s supporters.
We baited the Man U supporters for a while but in the end we stopped, they didn’t have a clue what we were on about. Even though this was a mixture of various supporters we got on great with them and had a good laugh as we tried to play pool. As you do, well I did when I was alive, we noticed the girls sitting together in groups of three’s or four’s. A quick “hello” tell us about yourselves, what are you doing after here etc. Most of the girls had boyfriends who were playing pool, we had other games on our minds!
Despite many valiant efforts, a bit like Rob Jones, all our attempts got us nowhere. The lads sussed out what we were after and joined their girlfriends to save them from our advances – we were gutted.
At the end of the night it was like saying goodbye to a member of your family for the very last time, we had made an impression with them as they had with us. We decided to walk some of the way out of town before we attempted to get a taxi, “Liverpool songs” filled the air as we staggered along in drunken oblivion. We jumped a taxi and headed back to our hotel. We left Alex slumped in the back of the taxi he was oblivious to everything we said. Ian scribbled down Alex’s address and passed it to the driver with enough money to cover the fare. After a few attempts we managed to locate the front door lock with the key, funny how something so simple is so hard to do when your cabbaged.
Once inside the first thing that hit you was that there was music blaring out from the bar area. We quickly stumbled to the bar to find it occupied by 25-35 people, it was well into the early morning and we hadn’t anticipated this? Irene was there serving from behind the bar, we ordered our drinks and stood their both lusting over her. Don’t know if it was because I had my beer goggles on or what, she looked even better than before! Here you are love get yourself a drink, was surprised when she said “yes” and joined us at the bar. She was 100% women very feminine and with gorgeous dark brown eyes, Irene told us she was the co-owner of the hotel her husband was asleep upstairs, more fool him, as we chatted away into the small hours.
I awoke feeling like someone had been jumping up and down on my head, unfortunately without Miss, or Mrs, Ireland by my side. A quick shower, shave and sh*te, into a clean set of clothes and downstairs for a great big greasy fry up, that would sort me out. Sitting reading the daily papers, Ian eventually turned up, looking as rough as fxxk, I recommended that he should have a greasy fry up, he declined the suggestion and settled for toast instead. Irene’s husband was serving everyone with breakfast’s, he was one of these “always on the go people“ a pleasant person full of the joys of spring, little did he know?
Anyway later on, Ian rang for Alex to see if he was coming out for a curer. His missus answered the phone and said “he is in a very bad state and has fallen asleep fully clothed on the stairs, with the dog snuggled next to him”. We went for a walk to clear our heads and to find a boozer, the rain was cold and refreshing but drenched our Wrangler’s right through, as we walked on. In those days, there was nothing so fashionable as marching sown a main road in a town full of anoraks wit a big W on yer a#se.
We found a pub and after a couple of jars we were as right as rain, the locals knew we were “out of towners”, of course we were, we were Wranglered up to death, but to be honest, at that time we just ignored them as they tried their best to wind us up. These were different people than the night before, very aggressive and in your face. We replenished our beer supplies and sat down not far from them, as with the night before these people were only small, both of us being well over 6 foot in height was maybe intimidating to them.
The baiting continued with comments about Liverpool and us in general. “Crusaders will destroy Liverpool today”, “don’t know why you boy’s have come over here your going out today”
“yeah right” I said “the best team in England getting knocked out by a bunch of part-timers, no chance” as they started to get my back up a bit.
“Liverpool aren’t even going to show up, they know they are already fxxxxxg beaten” one of the wags said (Because of the situation in Belfast, Liverpool had been granted special dispensation from UEFA to fly into Belfast on the day of the match rather than staying overnight).
“Its because they don’t want to meet people like you” said Ian.
This broke the ice - a stunned silence occupied the bar as we sat at the ready for any verbal or physical retort. “They’re all bone idle lazy fxxxxxg thieves over in Liverpool” came across “what are you lot doing boozing on a Wednesday dinnertime then” I said. Ian stood up and walked past them as he made this way to the bogs, the tension was very evident as he returned sometime later. The “banter” continued backwards and forwards no holes barred no quarter asked and none given, the mood got blacker and blacker.
The barman had been taking this all in and walked up with two pints and said “here you go boy’s drink these then I’m gonna have to ask you to leave” “Why” we both shouted, “if you don’t it might get out of hand,” he said. We finished our ale an I went to the bog, when I got back Ian was standing by the door glaring at them, “come on lets get out of this fxxxxxg dump” I said, as we walked out slowly waiting for any sort of response – nothing happened.
First Round Second Leg – Seaview – Belfast 4.00 kick-off - 28 September 1976
We got back to our hotel after another quick shxt, shower and change of some clothes, we headed downstairs to phone Alex too see if he was ready for the match. Alex’s missus answered the phone “he’s gone to bed, he doesn’t feel too well” she said, “Never mind, tell him we rang when he eventually gets out of his pit, the queg” said Ian. We rang for a taxi from the hotel soon we where on our way. As we approached the ground the crowds of people outside got bigger and bigger, we sorted out the taxi and had a walk around the ground to find out which was our end.
Reconisance mission completed we spotted a pub it was absolutely chocka block full of Liverpool supporters, surely they could make room for two of their own, driven on by thirst we eventually made it to the bar and got served. We stood at ease and enjoyed our bevies when we noticed something very odd a lot of the Liverpool supporters were Irish? Neither of us had expected this? We knew Liverpool had a huge following over in Ireland but some reason never expected this sort of turn out.
As you do, we started talking to the Irish reds around us they were superb they knew everything about Liverpool FC. Some of the Irish accents were different some easier to understand than others, it became apparent that these people had travelled the length and breath of Ireland to support their team. One lad in particular was going around asking everyone for any spares? Ian duly boxed him off with Alex’s ticket, his face lit up like Blackpool lights, Christmas had come early for him?
One of the Irish lads commented that Liverpool FC had been delayed owing to fog conditions at Belfast airport and that they had only just arrived at the ground. We decided to make our way into the ground, outside there where lines of police and stewards intent on checking everyone to make sure they a valid match ticket. Whilst in the queue we noticed a number of Irish supporters being turned away, we then found out that a very large number of forged tickets had been printed and distributed around Ireland.
After a bit of a wait we eventually to gain entry to the ground, we quickly headed to the toilets to relieve ourselves of some of the alcohol consumed earlier. The toilets were very sparse to say the least the urine ebbed and flowed like a small lake, you had to tip toe to try and make sure it didn’t flow over your trainees. It was alright for these in their plazzy shoes, but for a fashion conscious Scouser, a **** stain was like a dagger through the heart.
Our section was full of Scouse reds, whilst the remainder of our end was full of Irish Liverpudlians. This was the first time we had experienced such huge numbers of locals supporting Liverpool.
Billy Johnson (the Crusaders Manager) had declared that the second leg would see a completely different style of play from his Crusaders, they were going to attack. He urged his supporters to make as much noise as possible and for his players to intimidate the Liverpool players in every way on the pitch.
As both teams walked onto the pitch the noise was awesome for the 10,000 capacity crowd. The commentator read out the individual names of the Crusaders team, each name was greeted with a crescendo of noise, this was impressive? What happened next was unbelievable, as the commentator read out our player’s names the noise was twice as loud again! The Liverpool team, squad, management etc received a tumultuous welcome from the partisan crowd. As the teams choose which ends to defend we boomed out our anthem “You’ll Never Walk Alone” the whole crowd was up for this as Liverpool scarves appeared in every section of the ground. The Crusaders supporters also joined in; it looked and sounded superb.
Liverpool quickly settled down and adopted the tried and tested tactic of quietening the home crowd then gradually imposing themselves on the game. The Crusaders certainly where not intimidated by Liverpool as wave after wave of Crusaders attacks bore down on the Liverpool goal, Billy Johnson had certainly prepared his boys as he said he would. Twice within the first twenty minutes or so the Crusaders hit Liverpool’s woodwork, the home crowd was ecstatic roaring their team on and on.
If they scored early on it would indeed be a different game than the first leg. Fortunately Liverpool eventually regained their composure and in a rare attack Kevin Keegan gave the tricky reds the lead after 30 minutes with a stunning left foot volley which flew into the Irish net. The Liverpool crowd went ballistic as we celebrated this very important goal, we bounced up and down as the Crusaders supporters incredibly applauded Kevin Keegan’s goal, surely that would deflate the confidence out of the Crusaders?
The Liverpool goal did just that, it lifted our boys and despite tremendous encouragement from the home fans the Crusaders team grew increasingly demoralised. The Crusaders where now on the back foot as Liverpool turned up the pressure and retained possession of the ball almost at will. Red tide after red tide swept towards the Crusaders goal, as their defence and goalkeeper somehow managed to keep the reds down to a respectable one-nil score line at halftime.
The teams lined up after the break with Liverpool soon retaining the impetus, after a while it was clear to see that Liverpool’s superior fitness and tactful awareness was no match for the Crusaders. The Crusaders managed to keep Liverpool at bay until around the 80 minutes mark, when Davey Johnson pounced on a rare mistake by the Crusaders goalie following a thunderbolt of a shot from Steve Heighway. As before we went ape, that was game over, they had no chance of making a comeback, a few scuffles broke out in the crowd nothing-serious just handbags at eight paces. Defeat was a bitter taste for some.
Goals from Terry Mac and another beauty from Steve Heighway made it four nil, each goal being celebrated with much vigour from both sets of fans. Davie Johnson finished the scoring just before the end of the game with a simple tap in. The ref blew the final whistle “YES” we had got through! The Liverpool team were joined on the pitch by the rest of the Liverpool squad and the backroom staff, and an impromptu walkaround the pitch took place as the Liverpool supporters and Crusaders supporters joined forces to acknowledge a superb performance from the reds.
Crusaders 0
Roy McDonald
Bob Strain
Jeff Gorman
Walter McFarland
Bob Gillespie
John McPolin
George Lennox (Bobby McQuillan)
Ron McAteer
Paul Kirk
Drew Cook
George McCann (Terry Collins)
Liverpool 5
Keegan (34) Johnson (81, 90) McDermott (84) Heighway (87)
Ray Clemence
Phil Neal
Joey Jones
Tommy Smith
Ray Kennedy
Emlyn Hughes
Kevin Keegan
David Johnson
Steve Heighway
Jimmy Case (Terry McDermott)
Ian Callaghan
Attendance 10,000
Walking out the ground hunger pains gripped and tormented my empty stomach, it was teatime and we were starving. Unfortunately these would not be the only pains we would experience that night.
Walking along with the early evening crowd content at yet another fine display by the reds, we were oblivious to the attack that took place – everything just went black? I can remember waking up and for a split second wondered who were all these people looking at me? “Take it easy” “Are you OK” yeah I was OK, but how was Ian?
I shot up and Ian was sitting on someone’s front wall, his face was covered in blood, he looked dazed and confused, he gave the thumbs up sign as the local people cleaned him up with tissues. I wasn’t bothered about myself Ian was all-right that was all that mattered. “Here you go Son, clean yourself up with this” as someone passed me some tissues to clean myself up. As we retained our senses, someone told us five blokes had jumped us from behind. My right shoulder was killing me, but I said nothing as we thanked the people for helping us out and walked on.
As the reality of the attack slowly manifested itself I can remember feeling more and more angry in fact I was absolutely fuming. God forbid anyone who tried to wind me up or have a go that night, walking along I was ready to smack anyone, all’s I wanted was someone to say something, anything.
We decided it was time for drink and to try and calm down a bit, a pub was spotted and a pint quickly ordered and consumed. We went to the bogs to wash up and see what the damage was? A couple of bumps and bruises, a few loose teeth, and a very bloody nose. I took my t-shirt off to take a look at my shoulder, it was really aching, I spun it around like a Mike Channon goal celebration something “clicked into place” the pain shot across my shoulder then slowly eased. Some bloke walked into the bogs he didn’t say anything, he just looked on as we continued to sort ourselves out.
We walked out and ordered another pint, everyone seemed to be looking at us, and I was still waiting for someone to say something, anything! This bloke further up the bar must have sussed what had gone on, he walked up and apologised for what had happened, we thanked him for his concern and told him we were alright I wasn’t, I was still seething. Ian spotted food at the end of the bar, music is supposed to calm the savage beast - in this case two meat pies certainly did the trick.
As time passed by the effects of many seven year-old Irish malt whisky chasers began to kick in, we sat down amongst the locals and began to weave stories about following Liverpool FC home and away they lapped it up. Some bloke walked into the bar selling cockles, whelks and other assorted seafood, “Here ya are lad, give us a few packets of them cockles” for some strange reason he passed over about 10 packets.
The evening progressed as evenings do and as the landlord was trying to empty the pub we ordered a taxi to take us back to the hotel. “Here boy’s” he shouted as we made ready our departure, he walked over and handed us a bottle of whisky each.
“Take this away with you as a gesture of goodwill you have seen a little bit of the ugly side of Belfast, and we want you to know there is a good side too”. To be honest we were amazed, we told him not to worry, there is good and bad in any town or city and that sometimes things like this happen. We shook hands and Ian gave him his little LFC pin badge, the bloke had a big cheesy grin on his face as he put the badge on his shirt and we got in the cab to the hotel.
Straight up to the bedroom to check that me mug was all right, a quick wash and downstairs to see out the remainder of the evening/ early morning. It was a ugly time to be a Liverpudlian, Irene’s husband was manning the bar. We decided it would be a good idea to open our bottles of whisky, as there was only a few people in the bar we offered everyone a tot and some cockles.
This concoction went down a real threat, one by one the cockles slid down yer throat followed by another shot of whisky, the taste of vinegar, sand and whisky is not one you forget overnight!
Anyway, we managed to pull ourselves away from the bar at some ridiculous time early that morning and crashed out on our beds, empty whisky bottles an all.
We were awoken by the sound of Irene thumping on the door, “come on boy’s the last breakfasts are being served now, its ten O’clock! Get yourselves downstairs if you want some food” we stumbled downstairs body and mind aching from the previous days activities. Very slowly we regained the ability to recognise shapes; colours and fortunately the facility to hear coherently did follow later on. Conversation was at a premium as we grunted, groaned and pointed at what we wanted to eat.
As ever, the greasy fry up worked a threat, back upstairs to have a shower and sort your head out. I don’t know what happened next but I woke up sprawled across the bed fully clothed with one trainee on and one off. Ian was also asleep on his bed with a mountain of spew next to him on the floor. I opened the window to be hit by a rush of fresh air Ian woke up looking like death on two legs I laughed as he legged it into the bathroom to call God on the great white telephone.
We managed to tidy the mess up the best we could and threw it out the window the bright sunlight hurt your eyes as we tried our best to aim it at anyone walking past.
“Here’s a present from Liverpool shouted Ian” as another cascade was thrown at some poor unsuspecting passer by. We fell about in fits of laughter tears ran down our faces, ribs hurt everything hurt. It was sick, but it was funny.
After another shower we managed to amble downstairs for many cups of coffee and the daily papers. Yesterday indeed seemed a long time ago? A taxi was booked well in advance as we climbed the stairs for the last time, bodies and minds still not fully cohesive we packed our stuff away the best we could. A futile attempt was made to pull a small carpet from underneath a bed to try and hide the effects of Ian’s digestive juices on the main carpet.
We paid our room money to Irene’s husband and he shook our hands and welcomed us back anytime, we very quickly departed the hotel and where glad to get away before they saw the kip of the room.
The taxi driver asked “Had we enjoyed Belfast” “Yeah superb mate” came the reply “Its just like home in Liverpool” The flight home and the taxi home was a total blur as the effects of Irish hospitality ran its full course.
I got dropped off at ours, Ian was still a bit queasy so I put a couple of bob in Ian’s top pocket for his taxi fare to take him home. I stood outside our house gave him the thumbs up and watched as it slowly sped away into the dark of the night. I laughed to myself a feeling of goodness descended upon me.
I had managed to slip a few cockles into Ian’s top pocket and wondered what his reaction would be like when he pulled out his money for the taxi.
Ireland, skinheads, snarls, bevies, hiding, whisky, Irene’n all, we had a ball!
Happy times indeed.
