Bovril at the Hamlet

Having been devoid of inspiration for four months and eight days, I have returned to the blogosphere in emphatic style; influenced by 158 people at Dulwich Hamlet FC on an uncomfortably chilly November evening.

Without an in-person football fix since Cheltenham Town's cagey 1-0 win over Liverpool-conquerors Northampton in October, I opted for a trip to my new local team - albeit after much consideration; Dulwich play in pink and purple, for crying out loud. It's just not a good look. Oh, and they play in the Ryman League Division One South.

With cries of "up the Hamlet" ringing out from all corners of the ground (I exaggerate. The only person who muttered this was the 70-something man sat behind me, mongrel in tow. If he had been standing he would have been something of a football cliché. He left after 68 minutes), Dulwich played out an entertaining 2-2 draw with those bastards from Faversham Town.

My favourite character from the evening was the Irish lady working the tea bar. After serving me a sweet, meaty Bovril, I spotted the exciting sight of uncooked chips happily awaiting their fate in the deep fat fryer. Like a calm but resentful, waiting-to-explode Mary O'Leary from Father Ted, she said "Ahdown'thaveanychips". She lied to me and it made me sad. I was cold and hungry.

And then the second half happened. And then I went home. And Cheltenham beat Macclesfield 2-0. And I really hate Kay Burley.

Pic credit: lord.farmie