Unconditional Love Part 1 This is my first blog since Ipswich because I didn’t attend Southampton, Cardiff or QPR. Whilst last season I would still write about my detached thoughts all the way from Abersomewhereinwalesystwyth this season, as I’m back in Berkhamsted I feel very much involved and there is less to say about a game I missed. Therefore I shall attempt to summarise my experiences of the past 3 weeks. Southampton: I wasn’t there. I failed to listen to the radio and I failed to find Sky. However I was still experiencing the same emotions as ever, updates of the score from my step mum leaving me with the all too familiar compacting of the stomach muscles. Knowing we were playing well should have given me optimism but again as ever I was feeling the opposite. Not being there, being so far away, (ironically I was not far from Southampton) I couldn’t help but feel we were going to suffer an unlucky defeat. The phone remained silent for well over 50 minutes, I could stand it no longer and despite the astronomical cost of a T-Mobile sport text I entered Watford Score. Hoping this would be 50p(?!) well spent I held my breath, defeat and the phone would probably have been back in Berkhamsted before me. 3.2 was the score that flashed up, I allowed myself a little punching of the fist, enough to draw attention, not enough to make a scene. I was after all with my ex housemates from University who I don’t think ever quite understood what possessed me to paint my walls ‘Banana Yellow’ when the landlord said we could decorate. The final part of the saga which shows where my loyalties lie is the story that follows. I received my degree results on Friday morning and somehow gained a 2:1 and the reason I’m saying this piece of personal news is because of the next part of the story and shows where my priorities well and truly lay. My mum meeting me on the station ran up to me and said 2:1!! My response and this is not a joke, and I truly wish someone had recorded it was ‘No 3.2!’ “WHAT?!” was the reply I received before we suddenly realised that we were talking about two completely different things. I went into work on Monday with a smile on my face, but when I’d jokingly said to my mum by the evening I’d feel the opposite I really didn’t expect it, I honestly felt nothing could break the rhythm. Cardiff By Wednesday the happy memories of Sunday was a distant memory, work had been bad Monday and one of my friends who I had been with in Dorset received some very sad news on the same day. By Wednesday supporting them seemed much more urgent than listening to Neil Price moan on 3 Counties, though I did end up listening to the second half. Once we’d re-taken the lead I seriously began to question why I put myself through so much agony. Not being there was awful and every time Cardiff attacked I expected the commentary to be drowned out by a cheer. We won, I felt a bit happier, but the win felt hollow, and celebrating would have seemed inappropriate. I certainly cared about the outcome of the result, I just didn’t want to show it. My nerves had caused me to devour an unknown quantity of sweets, crisps and chocolate in that final 20 minutes and I don’t recommend that to anyone. QPR Again personal reasons meant I was unable to attend the only game this season that can be considered a local derby. This time I was in Bedfordshire visiting my Gran in hospital though I proudly wore my Watford shirt (even if it remained under a fleece most of the time!). I caught the final 20 minutes of the 1st half during which time King sounded like he was doing all right. It was a game I’d expected to win, expectations that had been raised after the great wins against Southampton and Cardiff. We didn’t win. 1.1 and a poor display, though we continued to create the chances that may have gifted us another (undeserved?) victory. At work on Monday a colleague said it was the best QPR had played all season (her son and husband are QPR fans) and they felt a draw was a fair result. I still felt having gone in front we should have been able to hold on, but accepted we probably shot our selves in the foot and didn’t show any urgency until the final stages (again).
