With having to drastically reign in my spending, I used this one as an excuse to go visiting family. I don’t see my family enough, time, money, or both, speeds life by. I met up with my Brother and his middle Son Dan, over the summer, to watch Warwickshire play cricket. We saw the whole days play, with the lunch and tea intervals, that’s 7 hours, it felt like half an hour tops. I caught the train over to Wellington, a journey I know, like the proverbial, back of the hand. A train line I’ve used, more than any other, possibly more than the rest, combined. Getting off, I was already reminiscing. I spent my formative years in Wellington. To say the memories were flooding back, is an understatement. Maybe, with what’s happened to me, since Christmas, had a huge bearing, but with about 50 years of memories vying for position, they were flooding back. One of those memories, was of the market in Wellington.
“Is this what passes as a local attraction, these days?”
I thought I’d self indulge, and take a look round it, see how it’s changed. All markets have changed, not just Wellington. We are more inclined to visit the one stop hypermarkets, than the little independent shops and market stalls these days. When we moved over to Wellington, from Bridgnorth, back in 1981, the market was a heaving mass of shoppers on a Saturday, from start to finish. It was quicker and easier to go to one stall, come back out, the same entrance, walk all the way around the outside to another entrance, to get to another stall, than it was to shuffle slowly, the shorter distance between the two stalls. These days, you’re more likely to be knocked flying by a tumble weed. I dropped in on my eldest Sister Chris, and her hubby Bob, after working out what shops used to be what. Chris is a worrier, I know if I’d have tried telling her over the phone about losing my job, no amount of reassuring, would have put her mìnd at rest. I needed to tell her, face to face. I told them both about the abhorrent way the fork lift driver had lied on his statement against me, and that I was bouncing back. I wasn’t going to allow this example of back stabbing, to get to me. It’s always better to be honest, and lies will always come back to haunt you. Bit like my lack of eating properly, led to my body giving up on me, back in February. There was an offer of homemade curry, which was far too enticing to forego and frequent some of the better pubs in Wellington, and besides, like I’ve said, I don’t get to see my family enough. Not only was I mightily thankful for a tasty curry, they also gave me a lift to my first pub of choice. The Pheasant is a real ale pub now, and somewhat changed since my youth, didn’t stop those memories flooding back in a raging torrent. I made a rare bad choice of ale, in here though. It wasn’t down to the excellent way the beer was kept, and more to a unique (To me) combination of hops. They gave it a stale taste. I wish I’d noted the combination down, so I don’t make the same mistake again. (Definitely not for my palette) With time knocking on, I wanted to grab a last one before the game, and hot footed it to The Cock Hotel. This place has been a real ale mecca, for Some years now, and shows no signs of stopping. A lovely oatmeal stout, was welcomed by my tastebuds. There was a fair contingent of Stockport fans in the pub too. With the amount of good ale pubs in their home town, I wasn’t surprised.
Even the ground has changed, since I first watched Stan Storton’s charges. I stood, trying to picture the old ground, and the fantastic period of time, when every league club, seemed to get beat there in the F.A.cup, Stockport being one of them, when they were enjoying better days. Even now, they’ve still got that ‘league club’ feel about them. I spotted an old friend of mine, cue more memories. It was good to catch up with him, not so good to hear that he’s now a Grandad. I feel old enough, as it is. It was good game, a good standard of football by both teams. Stockport grabbed the lead, with a well taken goal. I can’t say, I wasn’t enjoying myself, both with self indulgence, on the memory side, seeing Chris and Bob, but also the game was a good one. No diving and cheating, no surrounding the referee, to try and influence him. It was good honest football, without the razzamatazz.
“I never thought I’d be taking this
“So here’s another one”
There wasn’t any change in the second half, both sides seemed to be Hell bent, on playing good football, especially the home side. With the home support, starting to drift off . . . . home, they finally got the break through, their football deserved. The fickle hand of fate, gave Telford a ‘lucky’ rebound, and the equaliser was despatched. It ended soon after. A draw was probably fair, but if I could give points for good football, both clubs would have an extra 2 points.
I headed back to the station to check train times, and headed to the Pheasant once again. Someone must have liked the taste of the previous beer I’d had, as the barrel had been changed. I had one of the new stuff, and my tastebuds danced. My Brothers youngest, Liam met me off the train at Telford Central, and it’s a good job he did, as I would’ve got totally lost, getting through the place. Now as new towns go, I kind of expect the usual shopping mall experience, but I lived in Telford, for 33 years. It’s only been 4 years since I moved back to Brum, but I felt like I’d been dropped in a completely different place. Thanks to Liam, we got to my brothers place, otherwise, I think I would still be walking bewildered, somewhere in a place, I used to know so well, but obviously, with the drastic changes, don’t anymore. Once I’d had a cup of tea, my mashed up memories gave way to a great evening of catch up, before crashing on his sofa.