While anxiety still constantly lurks behind me and attacks at random moments, I am dealing with it better than I could before all of this happened. I’ve learned to acknowledge the beginnings of a panic attack but not let it take over. It hasn’t got any more pleasant, but it is a step forward.
I am now in my second week back at work, still doing shorter hours for the time being, and while I have got back into the swing of things quite well and been blown away by the warm welcome from my colleagues, there is a growing feeling that I won’t be truly able to move on from this episode unless I make a fresh start elsewhere.
Gressenhall
I got a museum pass for Christmas, allowing me unlimited entry to ten of Norfolk’s museums for a whole year. I love museums, so this was a great gift for me, but with the first quarter of my year being taken up by The Darkness (the illness, not the Lowestoft rock band from the 2000s) I hadn’t had the chance to use it until last Wednesday.
I went to Gressenhall Farm and Workhouse, only three miles or so from home, for a wander around. The building itself, which looms over you as you drive between Dereham and North Elmham, has always given me the creeps. Knowing the hardship that the people in a workhouse went through – separated from their families, worked to the bone and given hardly enough food to live on – makes me feel uneasy. But it was interesting to learn about how the place operated and its joint purpose as a museum of rural life means it has a few buildings laid out as shops from decades past, as well as a room made up like it was the 1950s.
Across the road there is the farm with horses, cows, sheep and pigs. Being spring, there were a couple of lambs and some recently born piglets to see. When I sent my mum the photo of the piglets, she replied ‘aww, little bacon rolls’. Mother! Here is a gallery of some photos I took on the day.
If you fancy a day out, whether you’re alone like lonely old me, or want somewhere to go with the family, I heartily recommend Gressenhall. A museum pass is only £42.30 a year for an adult if you pay by direct debit, which is great value when you consider one visit to Gressenhall would cost you £16.10.
Half Man Half Biscuit
I’ve been listening to Half Man Half Biscuit a lot lately. They are a Merseyside rock band who have been together for 40 years this year and are known for their great riffs and brilliantly funny lyrics. Right up my street. What about this for a line?
There’s a man with a mullet going mad with a mallet in Millets
National Shite Day by Half Man Half Biscuit
Pure poetry. Why not give them a try?
I think that will do for today. It’s good to be back! Thanks for reading if you made it this far.
My step-dad, my mum and me. Oxburgh Hall, Saturday 24th February 2024.
Without wishing to sound as pretentious as this might seem, it feels like I am saying hello again to myself as much as to anyone who has chosen to read this. The fact I feel able to sit and type this is a triumph in itself; not so long ago I wouldn’t have been capable of it.
I have always been prone to periods of low mood. To feeling like I am struggling to stay afloat. I don’t know why that is, and I certainly don’t relish it. I don’t want to wallow in self-pity. I wish I could be on a consistently upward trajectory, with a clearly defined goal to aspire to that would mean I had been successful. But is anyone’s life really like that? If I have learned anything over the last two months, it’s that everyone has their peaks and their troughs. Some have learned how to deal with them better than others, but only through experience. No one is immune.
This is the first time I have ever had a prolonged absence from work. I had never before had a sick note signed by a doctor. In thirteen years of work, I have had no more than four consecutive days off with illness – once enforced with Covid and once because of flu (not just a bad cold, the full blown flu). I even carried on when I had shingles at one point.
On a Tuesday morning in early January, I knew I couldn’t continue. I was gone. Going to work, no, leaving the house – no, actually, getting out of bed seemed like an impossible task. I couldn’t identify one particular incident that had led to this moment. I think now that it was like a boiler constantly having its pressure raised until it all got too much and gave in. A culmination of many things. In truth, I had been having panic attacks for over a year already. They nearly always happened at work, and when they appeared I would have to take myself away. I would have to find an excuse to be away from people. I’d deliberately find a task that meant I had to put distance between myself and everyone else.
I couldn’t explain why they were happening. It was the same job I had been doing for all my working life, it was a job I knew how to do, and suddenly I felt incapable, I felt weak, I felt like I was letting people down. The thought of my early shift on a Friday morning would render most of Thursday a waste of time. I couldn’t enjoy my day off because I was full of anxiety about work the next day. It took some persuasion to get me to see a doctor, because I thought I would be wasting their time. But I wasn’t, of course. Doctors have seen this all before. I was put on some medication, pointed towards talking therapies and offered time off work. That was in April.
I didn’t take the sick note then because I didn’t feel like I needed it. It wasn’t that bad. And other than making a few cursory glances at the wellbeing assistance offered by work, I didn’t pursue the therapy route. That seemed like crossing some sort of line. Like I would be admitting defeat. I am wrong about all of this, obviously, and kind of despise myself for ever thinking in this way. But I can’t deny it.
I carried on. I carried on right through the busy Christmas period that is always hell when you work in a supermarket. I dealt with having to work Christmas Eve, Boxing Day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. I guess I thought when January came it would be easier. People wouldn’t need so much stuff, either because they had enough already or because they were skint. It didn’t get noticeably quieter, though, and on two consecutive Sundays I found myself on the verge of walking out. I was walking through the corridors, hoping to bump into a manager. If I had, I would have told them that I was going home there and then. My ability to cope had been exhausted. I didn’t go home, though, and I talked myself out of running away. I got through the day and would collapse into a chair in the living room, completely done in, falling asleep at 5.30pm. At 31 years of age!
Maybe I should have spotted that things were coming to a head. That Tuesday morning came and I could not continue. I had to withdraw. I officially went off sick, was referred to the Norfolk Wellbeing Service by a mental health nurse and put on different medication. My mum took me to a garden centre, just to get me out of the house, and I was so restless with anxiety while sat in the cafe, a place that should be calm and comfortable, that it felt ridiculous. It was clear that I would not be able to go to work on the Friday, so we asked for a sick note. I was expecting maybe a couple of weeks, so was surprised when the doctor had put a whole month on the certificate.
The first few days, indeed the first few weeks of the note, were unpleasant to say the least. I was consumed by guilt, shame and paranoia. Guilt that I was letting my colleagues down, shame that I’d let myself give in and paranoia that some people wouldn’t believe that I was as bad as I said I was. I developed a habit of waking with a start at 4am, always 4am without fail, usually from a nightmare where I had gone back to work and it had become apparent it was too early. Even minor errands like going to the local shop seemed terrifying. I would put them off until I couldn’t put them off any longer, and then I would hate every second of them. I wanted to run away from the situation. Home was my sanctuary. One night I even slept in the caravan on our driveway because it was thought that a change of scenery, however minor, might help me sleep a bit better.
Going to the football, something I have been doing for fifteen years, felt like the most insurmountable challenge. On the morning of one match I had every intention of going but had got myself into such a state that my mum suggested it might not be a good idea. I stayed at home while mum and my step-dad went. I was immediately relieved at not having to go through the ordeal but angry with myself for not being up to it.
The lowest I felt
For a while, this seemed to be the new me. Outside of society, hidden away, not capable of functioning in the real world. It honestly didn’t feel like it would ever get better. But something else I’ve learned is that things always get easier after a while. The doctor doubled the dose of my medication, I reached the top of the waiting list to start telephone appointments for cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) and I realised that it had been a while since I’d had an ‘episode’.
Throughout all of this, our little budgie Messy had been a constant companion. He was something for me to care for, to stop thinking about myself for a while, if only to feed him and get him some clean water in the mornings. When my mum and step-dad were at work, just hearing him moving around his cage or chucking bits of seed out of his food dish made me feel like I wasn’t on my own.
Then Messy died.
We thought he had hurt his leg, because he wasn’t moving very well. He had never been able to fly, because the people we bought him from had clipped his wings (we did not know this at the time, and don’t approve of this practice), so we were used to him hitting the floor with a thud when he frequently tried and failed to take off. He wasn’t getting any better, though, and he had completely stopped chirping and talking. He had stopped being himself. So we took him to a vet. Looking back on it now, I think the vet was just trying to soften the blow when she entertained our idea that he had hurt his leg. She quickly suggested it was possible that it was a neurological problem, and that if it was there wasn’t much that she could do.
Messy had hardly been home an hour when he literally fell off his perch. He was still with us at this point, blinking away, hugging mum’s shoulder on the sofa, seemingly unable to move by himself any more. I found it too upsetting. I couldn’t stay in the room. I shut myself away. Mum was magnificent. She held Messy for as long as she could, and made sure he was comfortable, keeping him warm in a box in his last hours. We knew what was coming. By the time we woke up on Saturday morning, after not much sleep, he had passed away. It was pure grief. This wasn’t just losing a budgie for us. It was losing a member of the family. A friend. A character. It all felt so unfair; he was only fifteen months old. We were supposed to have up to eight years with him.
Messy. We didn’t have long enough with him, but the time we did have was special.
The only positive from Messy’s untimely death was that he completely stopped me worrying about a meeting I had at work on the Saturday morning to discuss my absence. I was so worried about him, so sad about what was happening, that any anxiety or nerves I had about going back to that place had been rendered irrelevant. I was not bothered in the slightest. I found it all very easy, and for the first time I said I was prepared to go back to work.
The next morning, we buried Messy in the garden and planted a flower above him. He will never be forgotten. At the time, both I and mum said that we couldn’t contemplate having another pet because it hurt too much when we lost them. How could you love something so much, only for them to break your heart like that? But in the days since I have softened my stance on this. I would love for Messy to have a successor. I’ve even thought about a name – Tidy.
Whether it was the resolve instilled in me by Messy’s death, the medication starting to work, or a combination of the two, I have found the world easier to deal with of late. Last week, I went to London with mum and stayed a night in an AirBnB without feeling anxious at any point. I think the sheer number of people in London, and the way you can blend into the background and move around unnoticed, helped. I have been to a football match, travelling by bus and sitting in my usual seat, without letting my nerves get on top of me. Life no longer feels like a challenge I can’t rise to. I have my moments, and there is no point where you feel completely fine, but you feel like you can be part of society again.
My return to work is approaching. It’s 17th March. I will be starting off by doing shorter shifts, to get back into the swing of things, for the first week or so. But it feels like a big step. And not one I’m having nightmares about any more. I am determined to go back and to show everyone that I am not weak, that I am just as capable as I have ever been and that I might even be better off for the experiences I’ve had since the start of the year.
I have been reading a book called Wintering by Katherine May, which I have found helpful. It explores ‘the power of rest and retreat in difficult times’, and it has changed how I see these cold and dark months. It’s not a period where you are supposed to sit and wait it out, eager for the summer to return. It looks at how winter is an important time in itself, and how different people and indeed different animals adapt to it. I have picked out three quotes from it that I have found particularly relevant to me.
Unhappiness has a function – it tells us that something is going wrong.
Our present will one day become a past.
We who have wintered have learned some things.
Robins sing through the darkest months.
Wintering (2020), by Katherine May
You see, I no longer feel like I have failed. I no longer feel like I gave in. I have been ill. My body told me that it needed to rest, to recover, and I have given it time to do that. I can now come back into the world, to feel normal again, and take the things I have learned along with me. I have wintered. And now I am ready for the spring.
If you have made it all the way down this far, you have done extremely well and I thank you for that. This has been a self-indulgent post to say the least. But it has been incredibly therapeutic to feel these words flowing out of me. To be able to make sense of what has happened to me. I feel like this marks my return.
It’s a new year, and I begin 2024 under both a literal and metaphorical cloud.
Here I am, soaked through and knackered, pushing trollies in the work car park last night. I took the photo because I didn’t think it would be believed that I actually had to go out there during Storm Henk. After an incredibly busy Christmas period, I am shattered. There are still two months until I get a week off work. I sense that I am on a downward slope.
Anyway, that’s enough self-pity. Here’s a few things that have caught my eye this week.
Daft news story: in the media, there are two ‘silly seasons’. One is in August, when everyone is on their summer holidays and nothing much is going on. The other is that weird week between Christmas and New Year. Last Thursday I was in a cafe with my mum and stepdad when my phone vibrated. The big breaking news story was that grand old Blackpool Tower was on fire! A bona fide English landmark was going up in flames! Not quite. It turned out to be some orange netting at the top of the tower blowing about in the wind. There was no fire. The media made a hasty retreat. In less than a week, the Blackpool Tower ‘fire’ has become a meme.
I once wrapped orange netting around the top of the Blackpool tower and fooled the whole country into thinking a national landmark was on fire. pic.twitter.com/vjP90uaBIG
A sporting sensation: Luke Littler, who is 16 but – let’s be honest – looks about 35, has taken darts by storm by cruising into the final of the World Championship in his debut year. Impressing everyone with his consistent high scoring and seemingly nerveless disposition, Littler only became world youth champion in November but has beaten Raymond van Barneveled and Rob Cross, who have six World Championship titles between them, in the main event. He plays the world number one and pre-tournament favourite Luke Humphries at Alexandra Palace in London tonight.
I love the darts. I used to watch it with my dad when I was a kid. Even now, I think the Christmas period only really starts when the World Championship begins. It’s immensely entertaining, and fantastic to watch people who are good at things do what they do. Last year, an incredible leg in the final between Michael Smith and Michael van Gerwen saw both players on course for a nine darter (the perfect leg of 501). van Gerwen missed the double 12, but Smith hit it. That got everyone talking – this year it’s Luke Littler that has captured the imagination.
A book I’m reading: my Christmas presents this year consisted mainly of books, which is fine by me. One of them was Everything To Play For: The QI Book Of Sports, which I’ve been thoroughly enjoying because it avoids the dreaded sporting cliches and takes a step outside of the bubble us sports fans tend to be in to take a forensic look at what sport actually is, how it began and why it exists. I recommend it, even if you don’t like sport, because it will explain to you that sport is far from a pointless activity and that it is actually built in to the human psyche.
Thanks for reading my musings this week. See you again soon.
That was it then. Christmas is over and done with for another year. Is it just me, or is Christmas Day itself always a bit of a downer? The best part of the festive season is the anticipation and the build-up. Going to see the lights being switched on, the parties, feeling the atmosphere when you’re out shopping. Everyone is preparing for something. The 25th is the end of it as far as I’m concerned. In fact, I would go as far as to say Christmas Eve is better than Christmas Day.
I obviously angered God this year, as he punished me by making me work on both Christmas Eve and Boxing Day. Walking into the shop yesterday, you would never have known that Christmas had just happened. Every single decoration was gone, the music had stopped, and everyone seemed to have lost the spring in their step.
The three days before the big day were spent helping to hand out several hundred Christmas food orders, which was hard work, but at least it meant I was out of the firing line that the checkouts would have been.
Next on the agenda is, of course, the new year. Let’s talk about that.
Resolutions: I don’t bother with them any more. You can’t go to bed one night and wake up as someone completely different the next morning. Self-improvement is an ongoing, gradual process and it doesn’t do you any good to set a hard deadline like 1st January to change your ways. Yes, I’d like to lose weight but I am not suddenly going to be a health freak as we move into the new year.
I am also feeling, more than I have ever done, that I need a new job. That’s going to be something to crack on with right away.
Things to look forward to: if, like me, you’re into sport then 2024 is going to be a treat. The year ahead features a World Cup in T20 cricket (England are the holders), a European Championships in football (please, Gareth, let them off the reins) and the Olympic Games in Paris (the one hour time difference will be great for viewers on this side of the channel).
In music, there are rumours that Alex Turner of Arctic Monkeys will reunite with Miles Kane for a third The Last Shadow Puppets album – though nothing is confirmed about that yet. As discussed last week, we do know that Blossoms will be releasing an album, promising several collaborations. The Stockport five-piece will play the biggest show of their careers so far at Wythenshawe Park on 25th August, which just so happens to be my 32nd birthday.
Watch/listen/read/play: I recommend watching Mog’s Christmas, which was on Channel 4 on Christmas Eve. It was an utterly charming half-hour of wholesome fun and it featured the unmistakeable voice of Benedict Cumberbatch. Catch up with it here.
That’s it for the second edition of I Write Wednesday. Have a fantastic new year and I’ll see you next week.
A short round up of things on my mind. Things I’ve seen, read, heard etc. From my point of view, it will help me keep my eye in with my writing. As the name suggests, it will be semi-regular and published on Thursdays.
A bit of news: That Mary Earps won the BBC Sports Personality of the Year award last night and I couldn’t be happier for her. I’m not trying to be right-on or anything like that when I say I love watching the Lionesses. They seem to be more of a team than their male counterparts – and more successful. Earps is a brilliant example of the virtue of never giving up. Four years ago, she felt like her football career was going nowhere and was preparing to try something else. Last night, she received the prestigious SPotY award as a Euros winner, World Cup finalist and comfortably the best goalkeeper in the women’s game. Apparently oxygen thief Piers “Morgan” Moron has been whining (for a change) about it. I find a good rule for life is that whatever he doesn’t like is probably a good thing. Well done Mary.
A song I’ve been listening to:Blossoms will be releasing their fifth album next year and the first single from it, To Do List (After The Breakup) is a banger. It’s a collaboration with fellow Stockport musician Findlay and, in true Ronseal style, tells you what you need to do after a break up. I’m a big fan. Watch the video below.
A podcast I’ve been listening to: one I’ve been really getting into recently is The Rest Is Entertainment. It’s a weekly dissection of all things pop culture hosted by Richard Osman (of Pointless, House of Games and Thursday Murder Club fame) and The Guardian journalist Marina Hyde. A recent highlight has been Osman’s insight into this year’s race for the Christmas number one, in which he dropped the bombshell fact that 2004’s Band Aid 20 remains Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke’s only UK number one single. It’s interesting, it’s funny, and it’s been making my journeys to and from work fly by.
Something you should watch this Christmas: it’s not exactly a hidden gem, but nothing gets me into the Christmas spirit quite like the 2008 festive special of Gavin and Stacey. It’s brilliantly observed, and truly captures that sense of anticipation that the big day holds. It makes me miss those big family Christmasses I remember as a child. You can watch it on BBC iPlayer here.
Is that it?
That will do you for this week. Have a very happy Christmas, a great new year and I’ll be back soon.
Just before you go – why are you asking yourself questions?
This year has been one to forget for Norwich City. In fact, it’s been the club’s worst year since… well, last year. David Wagner was appointed as head coach in the first week of January, and I had a good deal of optimism about him, although I would have been optimistic about anyone after the horrors of Dean Smith. He started well, too, with a fitter squad banging in the goals – most notably in a 4-2 win at Coventry where they were 3-0 up after 18 minutes. Looking a good bet for the play-offs, the Canaries faded away badly, failing to win any of their last six games. The talisman that was Teemu Pukki played his final game for the club on the last day of the season at home to Blackpool; when he was substituted in the second half most of the crowd left well before the conclusion of the 1-0 defeat.
A decent start to 2023-24 saw Norwich get three wins and a draw from their first four games (the draw being an incredible 4-4 at Southampton) but defeat at Rotherham and a serious injury to striker Josh Sargent set things on a negative course. Now, the club’s fans are divided, with occasional boos accompanying the frustrated sighs in the stands. Many want Wagner to be sacked, but the sporting director Stuart Webber has been the one to depart instead. Having announced that he would be leaving the club in June, there was a potential for him to remain in his post until March next year, but he left in November.
Away from Norwich, Manchester City became only the second English club to win the treble of Premier League, FA Cup and the Champions League in the same season – although the other team to do it were their cross-city rivals United, back in 1999. Erling Haaland had been brought in to push City to the next level and boy, did he deliver. The Norwegian scored an incredible 36 league goals in his debut season. The celebrations after the 1-0 win against Inter Milan in the Champions League final were so raucous that Jack Grealish is probably still nursing his hangover.
England’s women made it all the way to the final of the World Cup, just a year after so memorably winning the Euros on home soil. They were narrowly beaten by Spain in Sydney, but their victory was overshadowed somewhat by the controversy over the non-consensual kiss from the chief of the Spanish FA, Luis Rubiales, on the lips of captain Jenni Hermoso. So, after a month of showcasing the very best of the women’s game, all anybody could talk about was a creepy white bloke in a suit. Sigh.
England’s cricketers, fresh off the back of a 3-0 victory in Pakistan, started the year on the other side of the world, where they drew 1-1 with New Zealand. The “series” was the best advert yet for two-Test tours being banned – an epic finish in Wellington saw the hosts prevail by just one run. It was only the second time a Test match had been won by such a tight margin.
By mid-June, the long-awaited Ashes were underway. England could have won both of the opening games, but Australia took a 2-0 lead to Headingley. Nathan Lyon and Pat Cummins stood tall to see Australia to their target at Edgbaston, then the tourists embarrassed themselves by throwing the stumps down to remove Jonny Bairstow at Lord’s, when everyone knew the ball was dead. Still, Ben Stokes almost pulled off a miracle. After that, Bazball well and truly came to the party. Only a day and a half of rain at Old Trafford prevented there being a decider at The Oval, but England made it 2-2 there anyway and saw Stuart Broad off into retirement on a high note. The Ashes are still with Australia, but having thrown away a 2-0 lead and still not won a Test series in England since 2001, we came out of it the better.
The less said about the World Cup the better. England’s defence of their 2019 title was as unexpected as it was feeble – they lost to New Zealand, Afghanistan, South Africa, Sri Lanka, India and Australia and finished 7th in the group stage. Their only victories came against Bangladesh, the Netherlands and a consolation win against Pakistan when both sides were already out. The hosts India won all nine of their group games and then the semi-final against New Zealand, only to lose to Australia in the final. The Aussies took home the World Cup for the 6th time. No one else has won it more than twice.
I have never been much of a rugby union fan, but I did enjoy watching the World Cup during September and October. The respect for the referee’s decisions from the players, and the clarity of the Touchline Match Official system, made a refreshing break from the vitriol and incompetence of football. England were unlucky to lose to the eventual champions South Africa in the semi-finals, though the quarter final between the Springboks and hosts France was the best game of rugby I have ever seen. Have a look at the highlights of that one below.
Again, tennis isn’t one of my favourite sports but I do enjoy watching it now and again. Highlights from this year were Andy Murray, 36 years old and with a metal hip, battling through a number of five-set epics at the Australian Open in January and Carlos Alcaraz beating Novak Djokovic in the Wimbledon final.
Above is something I imagine your nan would have put in your Christmas stocking in 1978, if football was the only thing she knew for definite her grandson liked. 45 years after it was published, I was fascinated to see the sort of thing that made it into such a book and how it differs from today. Just as I had been with a 1964 edition of Charles Buchan’s Football Monthly that I found last year.
Information about the Score annual is irritatingly scarce online. Its publisher, Fleetway, was also responsible for well known comics such as Tiger, Eagle, Roy of the Rovers and 2000 AD, with the name disappearing in 2002. It seems the football annual we are looking at originates from Score ‘n’ Roar, a short-lived weekly comic.
The 1979 edition is a mixture of black and white and colour pages, not uncommon for the time. The first few are full-page colour photographs of notable contemporary football players – the yellow and green of the Norwich City kit catches the eye here, with captain Martin Peters the focus. Peters had been part of the England World Cup winning squad in 1966 and, as the caption marvels at, was still playing top division football twelve years later. That, too, for the Canaries!
Another of the featured players is Trevor Francis. Francis sadly died last month aged 69, having spent much of his life carrying around the tag of “Britain’s first £1 million footballer”. That transfer, from Birmingham City to Nottingham Forest, had not happened by the time this Score annual was published, however, so instead the caption talks about him as a potential star for England at the 1982 World Cup. Francis was picked for that tournament, scoring against Czechoslovakia and Kuwait, but England were knocked out due to goalless draws with Spain and West Germany. He scored the winning goal in the 1979 European Cup final for Nottingham Forest, played for ten clubs, managed four, and later forged a career as a co-commentator with Sky Sports. A life well lived. May he rest in peace.
The transfer fees in the game of football these days are, quite frankly, ridiculous. Seven of the twenty most expensive deals in the sport’s history have happened in 2023 alone, and all of them in the last 14 years. A club spending £100 million on a single player is becoming increasingly common.
It raised a smile, then, when I read this article about goalkeepers in the annual. The caption under Peter Shilton’s right leg says he is demonstrating “just why he’s worth more than £300,000”. Adjusted for inflation, that would make Shilton – capped a record 125 times by England and a two-time European Cup winner – valued at just over £1.5 million. That would only get you a half decent third division player these days.
The 1970s may have been a time when what we would perhaps call ‘old fashioned’ views were prevalent. It’s important to say that the Score annual from 1978 is neither racist nor sexist, however. Some of the content does feel a little clunky to modern eyes but, as you can see, it does try to celebrate the black players who were around. It just does it in a way that kind of feels like they are animals in a zoo.
The double page spread features Laurie Cunningham, Viv Anderson, Vince Hilaire, John Chiedozie, Phil Walker, Trevor Lee, Cyrille Regis and Ricky Hill. It refers to these players as “coloured” throughout. It is hard to imagine such a feature ever being given the green light these days – thankfully.
Brian Clough is surely one of the most famous football managers of all time. Admired and despised, depending on your view, for his witty comments to the press (“I wouldn’t say I was the best manager in the business. But I was in the top one”) and apparent arrogance, Clough won league titles with both of the fierce East Midlands rivals Derby County and Nottingham Forest – the road linking the two cities is called Brian Clough Way. The story of his 44-day stint as manager of Leeds was told in the book and the film The Damned United, in which he was portrayed by Michael Sheen. A familiar sight on the touchline in his trademark green jumper, as statue of him stands proudly in the centre of Nottingham. Clough died in 2004.
The feature in the Score annual focuses on Clough being the joint-manager of the England Youth team. Little did the writer know, Clough would soon achieve something that would leave a far greater legacy. He guided Nottingham Forest, astonishingly, to back-to-back European Cup triumphs in 1979 and 1980.
As I type this, it is the afternoon of the day the England women’s team beat Australia in the World Cup semi-final to reach their first final. This comes just over a year after they were crowned European champions at Wembley. The match was watched by 75,000 people in the stadium in Sydney and by millions of television viewers on BBC One. Women’s football, and women’s sport in general, has never been more popular.
It was quite an eye-opener, then, to see a feature in the Score annual with the title “Is it a girl’s game?”. It describes football as “one of the fastest-growing women’s sports” (they had no idea how far they had to go!) and says “already there are women’s teams in leagues up and down the country – and even international matches”. There is a slightly patronising tone to the “even” that gets me in that sentence.
It’s not a big feature. That block of text is accompanied by only four photos, depicting the English, Swedish, French and Italian women’s teams. The France side are only shown in the dressing room, and the Italy squad at Heathrow airport, but the match action is between England and Sweden. A bit of digging reveals that this is likely to have been the friendly between the two nations at Plough Lane in Wimbledon in 1975. Sweden won 3-1. It is interesting to see a small but interested crowd in the background, with plenty of men in attendance.
The final thing I’ve picked out from the Score annual of 1979 is this feature on the rising popularity of football in the USA. Aside from claiming that the Americans refer to fans as “fannies” (really?), it explains the slightly different rules used in the North American Soccer League. A line was drawn on the pitch, 35 yards from goal, and a player could only be offside if he was goal side of it. That’s not a bad idea actually…
The concept of a draw was, and in some ways still is, hard for Americans to get their heads around, so matches in the NASL determined a winner with a shootout. But not a penalty shootout. The ball was placed on that 35 yard offside line and the player had 10 seconds to score. Essentially a one-on-one situation, the player could dribble as far as he liked towards the goal and the keeper could come as far off his line as he wished. That sounds fairer than a penalty shootout, doesn’t it? A truer reflection of the players’ skills? Maybe the Americans had it right as far back as 1978.
Searching on YouTube, it seems these shootouts remained a part of the game for several years. One video shows San Jose Clash against Chicago Fire from July 1999, where the only thing that’s changed from the 1978 rules is the player now has only 5 seconds to score.
Teams in the NASL were awarded a whopping 6 points for a win, three times what you’d get in the English leagues in 1978. You would also get an extra point for every goal up to three, so a 3-0 win would see you add 9 points to the table. The losing side would also get a point for each goal scored up to three, so an agonising 4-3 defeat would still see you pick up 3 points. Quite a neat way to encourage attacking football really.
Phil Woosnam, a former Wales international, was the Commissioner (the boss) of the NASL in 1978 and is quoted as saying “America would like to stage the World Cup Finals and the national team is looking to make an impact in the tournament”. This dream would, of course, be realised in 1994 when the USA hosted the World Cup and the final was played in front of 94,000 people at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California. The national team has not gone beyond the quarter finals since 1930, however. They will hope to do better in 2026, when they will once again host the World Cup, alongside Canada and Mexico.
The feature excitedly tells us that “some grounds have action-replay screens, where supporters can see a goal again in slow motion seconds after it’s been scored”. A novel idea in 1978, now commonplace in just about every top level football ground in the world. Norwich’s Carrow Road has a screen that rotates!
Score credits the great Pele for sparking football to life in the US, with his three years at New York Cosmos. It mentions “there are moves to expand the League”, which of course they did with Major League Soccer (MLS) in 1996, and now the world’s greatest player – Lionel Messi – turns out for Inter Miami, a team founded by David Beckham. Fair to say the writers in 1978 were right about the potential for the game in the States. The annual comes across as slightly worried about the prospect of players in the English leagues being tempted to go to the US – an eerily similar situation to the one we have now with Saudi Arabian clubs paying colossal sums of money for Premier League stars.
Lionel Messi in action for Inter Miami in the MLS
If you’ve made it this far, thank you very much for reading, and I hope you’ve enjoyed this trip back into days gone by.
It’s what literally no one has been waiting for! Part 2 of my write-up of my holiday in Wales. If you haven’t read part 1, click here to get up to speed with Barry Island, Chepstow and Hopwood Park Services.
Day 3 – Wednesday 19th July
Wednesday was mum’s birthday, so the morning involved her opening her cards (I now have a five year streak of producing tears with mine) and presents (the Garmin fitness tracker, a joint gift from me and Dave, was well received). But we didn’t have much time for that, as we had to be on the train fairly early again. We were heading back into England – we were going to Bristol.
The trip to Bristol obviously involves crossing the River Severn again, and on the train it means going underneath it via the Severn Tunnel, not something that mum enjoyed. Anyway, it was quite a short journey and we arrived in one of England’s great cities.
I had never been to Bristol, but read and heard much about it. This was Brunel country, a big city that somehow doesn’t have a top flight football team, and also where a lot of scenes from my favourite sitcom Only Fools and Horses were filmed once it had become too popular to be shot in London. It was exciting to be able to tick off another metropolis.
Unfortunately, we had not planned for our visit to Bristol beyond buying the train tickets, and so on arrival we had no idea where we going or what we were going to do. We walked away from the enormous Temple Meads station and, as it turned out, went the wrong way and ended up in a rough part of town.
Temple Meads station in Bristol
Mum said she wanted a coffee, so I used my phone to find us a place with good reviews not far away. We discovered that this place, Bakehouse, was on an industrial estate. The coffee was ok, the food looked nice but went untried due to how expensive it was, and we found ourselves in the bizarre situation of sitting on a picnic bench amongst industrial units. Only two days before we had been enjoying the spectacular views on Barry Island.
We resolved to find the city centre, and eventually managed it. We went into a few shops and had a nice lunch in a café, but we never saw any of Bristol’s great sights. We didn’t see the SS Great Britain, we didn’t see the Clifton Suspension Bridge, and I didn’t tick off any more sporting venues such as Ashton Gate, the Memorial Stadium or the County Ground. We went to catch the train feeling like we hadn’t really ‘done’ Bristol, and I feel like I need to return at some point.
Day 4 – Thursday 20th July
There was a train strike on Thursday, so we spent the day off the rails, as it were. We walked to Caldicot Castle, not far from our apartment, and were very pleasantly surprised by the experience. It was free to get in, which was unexpected, and there are so many little nooks and crannies of this historic site to explore. A Grade I listed building, most of what we can see today was built somewhere around 1170 and restored in that confident Victorian way by a man called Joseph Richard Cobb, who made it his family home.
What really interested me was the fact that the castle was used to house families who had been bombed out during the Second World War. Down one very narrow corridor was a bath that would have been used by people living there in the 1940s.
Extensive helical staircases would take us down to the basement, where a grate allowed us to peer into the darkness of the dungeons, and up to the top of the tower, where we enjoyed wonderful views over the Severn Estuary – very much a photo opportunity.
The view from the top of Caldicot Castle, with the Severn Bridge in the background
We enjoyed a snack and a drink from the castle’s tea room before we left. A truly wonderful place, a fantastic thing for the locals to have on their doorstep. The field next to the castle is used for concerts – Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds are performing there in August.
Day 5 – Friday 21st July
Our last full day in Wales. We had heard about a place called Dewstow Gardens & Grottoes, which was only about ten minutes away from the apartment by car, so we went there to take a look.
Honestly, if you are ever out that way you must go to Dewstow Gardens & Grottoes. The gardens at ground level are beautiful and incredibly well-maintained, with so many trees, plants and ponds to sit by and enjoy some peace and quiet. But it is when you go underground, into the network of tunnels that go through the stone, that your mind is truly blown. These grottoes are amazing spaces – they really are like stepping into another world.
Even better, when I was enjoying a delicious sausage roll and slice of chocolate cake from the café, little birds like to sit on the tables and eat the crumbs that people have left behind. Look at this chap.
We didn’t really have a plan for what to do after we’d left Dewstow, and in an unexpected turn of events we ended up crossing back into England and stopping at Severn View Services. As the name suggests, this is where a short walk will give you the best possible view of the Severn Bridge.
Increasingly weary, next we found ourselves back in Chepstow, but with very little energy left in the tank we didn’t do anything other than visit a Wetherspoons for a meal. I had a pizza (and no, I’m not getting any thinner).
We were knackered, but content. We’d seen so many new places and done so much walking that we knew our holiday in Wales was one we would never forget.
Day 6 – Saturday 22nd July
Time to go home. With the forecast suggesting that a month’s worth of rain in one day would leave Wales looking something like Atlantis before long, we left as early as we could. I put my head down for a nap just after we’d crossed the bridge back into England, and when I woke up we were driving around the suburbs of Reading, which was a surprise as no part of our journey home should have involved the suburbs of Reading.
Apparently, they had said on the radio that there was traffic on the M25 at Slough. This was exactly the part of the M25 we needed to go on, so Dave had made the decision to try to avoid the M25. Well, to say this meant we went home the long way round is an understatement. We must be the only people ever to travel between Wales and Norfolk and stop for a wee at the Tesco in Amersham, Buckinghamshire. After we’d been there I swapped with mum and sat in the front seat to help guide us in the right direction. We took in Chesham, Hemel Hempstead and St Albans but eventually made it to the A14 near Cambridge and back to dear old Dereham.
If you’ve made it down this far, thank you very much for reading. Hopefully I’ve inspired you to go exploring. Whatever you do, make sure you visit Dewstow Gardens & Grottoes!
It was the first time I’d been out that way, and it was a nice change from heading to the Yorkshire/Derbyshire area, which I had been doing most summers since I was a child – including last year.
I kept a diary of the six day trip, so here’s what we (my mum, step-dad and I) got up to:
Day 1 – Sunday 16th July
Departure day. It wasn’t just us going on holiday – our budgie, Messy, was spending the week at Dave’s brother’s house, and he’d been taken there on the Saturday night. We had said we wanted to be on the road by 8am, so of course we left shortly after 9am.
I had taken a travel sickness tablet, and tried to get some sleep on the journey. I put my head down somewhere near Thetford and when I woke up we were just to the south of Birmingham! We stopped for a break at Hopwood Park Services and then completed a pretty smooth journey by crossing the Prince of Wales Bridge into Wales.
Crossing the Prince of Wales Bridge into Wales
We were staying in an Airbnb in Caldicot, a small town near Chepstow. This was the first time we’d used Airbnb and first impressions were good. Our accommodation was a self-contained apartment attached to the owners’ house.
That evening we walked to find the railway station and explore the town.
Day 2 – Monday 17th July
With the weather forecast good for our first full day in Wales, we decided to go to Cardiff on the train. But once we’d arrived at Cardiff Central Station, we decided to carry on to the coast at Barry Island. This was, of course, where a lot of the sitcom Gavin and Stacey was filmed, as well as a few scenes from my favourite film Submarine.
I have to say I wasn’t expecting Barry Island to be quite so beautiful. The beach is huge, and with the sun shining the water sparkled and you could see Weston-Super-Mare on the other side. We stopped at a café on the sea front before walking to the end of Friars Point, where the heavens opened and we got soaked.
Enjoying my summer holiday
Making our way back, we had lunch at a fish and chip shop next door to Marco’s Cafe, the real life place that Stacey works at in Gavin and Stacey. It’s clear that Barry Island is very proud of its association with the hugely successful BBC show – there are murals celebrating the fact all over the place, and the shops are not short of mugs emblazoned with Nessa’s catchphrase ‘oh, what’s occurring?’ or t-shirts with ‘sugar tits’ printed on them, the ‘affectionate’ nickname Dave Coaches used for Nessa.
A game of adventure golf and a drink sitting outside a pub followed before we headed to the station, but the day wasn’t over. I like ticking off any sporting arenas I see on my travels, and Cardiff has several. Not far from Cardiff Central I was able to see the Principality (formerly Millennium) Stadium, the home of the Welsh rugby union team, although we couldn’t get too close to it due to some work being done. I did take this photo though.
The cricket ground, named Sophia Gardens after the park that is close to it, is a bit of a walk from the Principality but we made the effort and were rewarded when we were told by a steward that we were welcome to go in and watch the end of a women’s match that was going on.
I can now add Sophia Gardens to the list of cricket grounds I’ve seen a match at: Lord’s, Trent Bridge, Headingley, Old Trafford and Edgbaston.
When the match was over, we were on our way back to the station when we realised that the next train back to Caldicot wasn’t until 7.50pm! So we had dinner at a Wetherspoons around the corner to kill the time. We were pleased we did, as it was in a fascinating old building – a theatre that was the venue for the first performance of the Welsh National Opera.
Reaching our apartment just before 9pm, we were all shattered. Our first full day would turn out to be our longest!
Day 2 – Tuesday 18th July
After the events of Monday, a quieter day was mooted for Tuesday. We walked into the town to see the market, which turned out to be about four stalls. The most noteworthy event that morning was a man tripping on a raised bit of paving and going down in instalments, hitting the ground chin first. Dave, a trained first aider, rushed to help. The response was actually quite heart warming – a chair was brought over from a nearby restaurant, a first aid kit was procured from a betting shop, and an off-duty nurse took over. As we were leaving, the police (or ‘heddlu’ as they are known in the utterly impenetrable Welsh language) were just arriving to see what was going on.
We got in the car and went to Chepstow, which is only 5 miles or so away. The only thing I really knew about Chepstow before arriving was that they did horse racing there, but it’s actually a really interesting town with plenty of history. Here’s a photo of Chepstow Bridge, where you can actually walk between Wales and England.
Chepstow Bridge from the Welsh side
I’ll be writing about the rest of my trip to Wales in the next few days – I hope you’ll come back for part 2!
I was there when Arctic Monkeys – more than a band to me – played on my football team’s pitch. Two of my worlds, two very different worlds, colliding. I’ve been to Carrow Road hundreds of times. I have had my season ticket at Norwich for fifteen years. But instead of watching the Canaries, to see Alex Turner, Matt Helders, Jamie Cook and Nick O’Malley perform in front of the Barclay, was a surreal experience and a dream come true.
Those guys aren’t just the producers of some great rock and roll songs for me. They changed my life. There I was in 2014, lost, my dad had just passed away. Discovering the Arctics, albeit I was late to the party, gave me a new obsession to lose myself in. Those songs brought me out of my shell and made me more confident. They changed the way I dressed, the way I had my hair cut. Watching their live shows on YouTube, the band became heroes to me because they were everything I wasn’t – successful, comfortable in their own skins, incredibly talented and able to make everything seem so effortless. I wanted to be like Alex Turner.
I saw Arctic Monkeys in the flesh for the first time five years ago, at Sheffield Arena. They were touring their 2018 album Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino and I stood in awe as they put on a show for their hometown crowd. It was everything I hoped it would be – loud, stylish and immaculately delivered. Of course, I had always wished that they would come to my hometown but felt it unlikely. Norwich doesn’t have much in the way of large venues for gigs. The Arctics have played at The LCR at the UEA, but that was way back in February 2006. I was 13 at the time and too much of a terrible square to be aware of them. In the years since, they have gone on to be one of the biggest bands in the world, and it seemed they had simply outgrown little old Norwich.
Imagine my delight, then, when last September I was alerted to the news that the UK leg of the tour for the new album The Car wouldn’t be at indoor arenas in the autumn, as I had expected, but at stadiums in the summer – and Carrow Road was one of them!
Of course, I simply had to be there, and it was a tense morning when the tickets went on sale. I was in bed with four devices ready to go. I knew this gig would sell out fast. But I managed it.
Cut to yesterday morning. I woke up, home alone in Dereham as my mum and step-dad are away on holiday, with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Excitement, of course, because I was going to see my favourite band in the flesh! But also nerves because – what if something went wrong? What if I didn’t get there on time? What if I missed the biggest night of my year? A month or so ago, these thoughts would have triggered full-on trembling anxiety in me, but now I’m on medication to manage my mental health and I believe that is what helped me to remain on the right side of rational.
Arctic Monkeys played in Norwich for the first time since 2006
Last summer, when I went to The Killers gig at Carrow Road – the success of which I think partly convinced the Arctics that Norwich would work for them – I had parked my car on the roof of the Rose Lane multi-storey. It was a good location close to the ground, but I feared I would be there all night, such were the queues of traffic trying to get out at the end. I wanted to get there and back in a less stressful manner this time. I noticed a Facebook post by Konectbus, advertising the extra services they were putting on between Thickthorn Park & Ride and Norwich Bus Station especially for the gig. I decided that this was the way to go. Thickthorn was the right side of the city for me to get there and back easily, and the bus would be cheaper and less hampered by traffic as it could obviously use the bus lane on Newmarket Road.
Ever cautious, in the knowledge that the first support act would be on at 6.40pm, I left the house at 3pm. I mean, there are probably people coming from Mexico who put less planning into their trip. Everything went very smoothly, and I was in the city and walking towards Carrow Road by 4pm. I thought about killing some time by popping in to see my old workmates at Queens Road, but didn’t. Instead, I headed straight for the ground and the fan village, where there were a plethora of food and drinks stalls as well as merchandise stalls. I would have liked a t-shirt, a memento of the evening, but I couldn’t bring myself to pay £35 for one. They must have made a fortune, though, as I saw so many people wearing them. They did look stylish, it has to be said, but I just couldn’t pay that amount.
Over the course of the evening, it did strike me that I wished I had someone to share the experience with. All around me, there were couples, groups of mates – and I was alone. But, as Mark Corrigan once said in an episode of Peep Show, ‘you’re never alone with a phone’ so I spent quite a lot of time staring at mine, so other people didn’t pity me.
The doors opened just after 5pm and I went straight inside. On being pointed towards my seat, my heart sank – I couldn’t see the stage! My sheer desire just to be there had meant back in September I’d taken the first ticket offered to me on the website. I didn’t consider the possibility that my view of the stage would be impeded.
My original and less than ideal view of the stage
I kept telling myself, ‘alright, this isn’t ideal, but at least you’re here. You can see the screens, and you’ll be in amongst the atmosphere’. I had made my peace with the situation when a steward approached me, with the words ‘senior supervisor’ on the back of his hi-vis jacket. He said, ‘you can’t see anything there, follow me’. He took me up the stairs right to the back of the South Stand, through a door into what appeared to be a staff area of Carrow Road, into another concourse and up some more stairs where it turned out I was in the tier above and to the left of where I was originally. He pointed me to a seat and handed me a ticket. Clearly, these were the few tickets that had not been sold, and thus the seats would be empty. When I realised the view I would have, straight on with a great view of the stage as well as the screens, I was incredibly grateful to this kindly steward.
My view once I had been moved by a kindly steward
I have never minded sitting and waiting for a gig to begin. There’s something about watching the place fill up, the roadies setting up the stage, the atmosphere building and the anticipation rising that I enjoy. Eventually, 6.40pm came and with it The Mysterines, the first support act. I always feel when going to a gig that it’s important to support the support, as often they are up-and-coming artists being given a bit of exposure by the more illustrious headline act. Sometimes, you can find some new music to explore in a support act – when I went to see Blossoms at the LCR in the winter, they were supported by an excellent young singer called Brooke Combe.
The Mysterines come from Liverpool and the Wirral, released their debut album just last year and are fronted by the energetic and charismatic Lia Metcalfe. They delivered a short but strong set and are definitely ones to watch. A female-led alternative rock band is always worth a listen. If Arctic Monkeys like them enough to ask them to tour with them, they must be good.
Lia Metcalfe and The Mysterines get the evening underway
The best way I can describe the weather last night: bloody freezing. The warm and sunny weather the rest of the country has been enjoying doesn’t seem to have reached the east yet, so the temperature dropped as the blanket of white cloud that had been in situ for several days remained draped over the stadium. Between the two support acts, I found myself actually shivering, so felt I had to abandon my frugal nature and went and bought a coffee and a hot sausage roll. They did the job and warmed me up enough to see me through the rest of the evening.
The Hives seemed a slightly unusual choice of support act for the Arctics. Far from being an up-and-coming group, The Hives – who hail from Sweden – released their first album in 1997 and have sold more than 750,000 records. I was aware of their biggest hits, such as Hate To Say I Told You So and Tick Tick Boom, but their music had always been a bit loud for me.
The Hives rock Carrow Road
On stage at Carrow Road, however, it became clear that The Hives are a phenomenal live act. The lead singer, Pelle Almqvist, is an incredible performer and interacted with the crowd like nothing I’d ever seen before. This particular exchange really made me laugh:
Almqvist: Do you love the Arctic Monkeys!? Crowd: YEEEAAAHHH! Almqvist: Do you want to hear a song by the Arctic Monkeys!? Crowd: YEEEAAAHHH! Almqvist: That’s cool. Here’s another one by The Hives.
Brilliant.
The crowd were well and truly warmed up by the time The Hives had finished, expressing their gratitude to the Arctics for taking them with them.
At last, as day turned to night, it was time for the main event. The sound of Barry White’s I’m Gonna Love You Just a Little Bit More Babe gave way to the entrance of Arctic Monkeys. Huge cheers greeted the first sight of Sheffield’s finest.
There’s a slightly annoying discourse around the Arctics these days. There are fans from when they first started out, as an indie rock band playing songs about nights out, and fans who know them because of the 2013 behemoth AM, who haven’t seemed able to get their heads around the band’s evolution in sound. There is some snottiness towards their newer stuff, but I love it all – and last year’s The Car contains some of their best work. Big Ideas, in particular, is an absolutely beautiful song. The fact is, the Arctics would have faded away long ago if they had still been thrashing around on guitars like spotty teenagers. It’s because of their exploration of new genres, use of new instruments, and desire to be different that has maintained their position as one of Britain’s most relevant and vital bands.
The band’s set took in six of their seven studio albums
So the question was – what balance would they strike between the old and the new? Well, they kicked off with the first track from their very first album, The View From The Afternoon. Then it was guaranteed crowd-pleaser Brianstorm, AM track Snap Out Of It, Crying Lightning from 2009’s Humbug, another one from Favourite Worst Nightmare in Teddy Picker, then my favourite Arctics song Cornerstone. Six songs in, four albums picked from, but none from the most recent couple.
The Bowie-esque Four Out Of Five, reworked for this tour, marked the first appearance of Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino before an extended intro to AM favourite Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High? The brooding Arabella was then followed by the first track from The Car, Sculptures Of Anything Goes. The dark arm-waver Pretty Visitors brought another one from Humbug to the show before they played the original version of 2007’s Fluorescent Adolescent. I can’t remember the last time they played that in its original form – in Sheffield in 2018, Turner only played half of it on the piano – but it was very well received by the crowd. The gorgeous closer to The Car, Perfect Sense, was next before the thunderous Do I Wanna Know?, surely a candidate for one of the great live songs.
When the tour began in Bristol last week, the Arctics surprised us all by opening with the original version of Mardy Bum from their first album. In recent years, it’s a song they have hardly played live at all, and at Glastonbury in 2013 they played an acoustic version backed by an orchestra. Many of us probably thought we’d never hear the guitar version again, but here it was, to the delight of everyone in the ground. There’d Better Be a Mirrorball, the opening track to The Car, was followed by fan favourite 505 and then another one from The Car, Body Paint, was given an extended, full on rock outro to see the band off the stage.
Arctic Monkeys said ‘There’d Better Be a Mirrorball’ and there it was
There was only a brief interlude before they returned for an encore, comprising the John Cooper Clarke inspired I Wanna Be Yours, the Arctics’ biggest song of all I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, and the last song of the night R U Mine?
A huge ovation, and they were gone. My favourite band had smashed it. They came, they saw and they conquered Carrow Road. Just as they had in 2018, Joe Cocker’s version of With a Little Help From My Friends accompanied the crowd filing out of the stadium. I made my way back to the bus station, where Konectbus had put on extra buses to ferry people back to Thickthorn Park & Ride. I had a seat on the bus, which wasn’t crowded at all, it didn’t get stuck in traffic and I had a smooth journey back to Dereham in the car, home by 11.30pm.
How did it compare to the 2018 gig I went to in Sheffield? Well, not only has the shaved head Alex Turner was sporting back then been replaced by an unkempt mass of hair, the fact that it was an outdoor event rather than indoors in an arena made the lighting really stand out. Looking to my left, I could see the majestic Norwich cathedral lit up in the night’s sky. The band also seem to have gone a bit further back to their roots – they had previously considered their old songs difficult to play any more, claiming it was as if they were doing karaoke of them. In 2018 it seemed very unlikely that we’d hear the original versions of Fluorescent Adolescent and Mardy Bum again.
Arctic Monkeys will now go home to Sheffield, where they will play two big homecoming shows at Hillsborough Park. The tour will then take in Swansea, Southampton, three nights at the Emirates Stadium in London, Malahide Castle in Dublin and then Glasgow on 25th June. On Friday 23rd,in between the Ireland and Scotland dates, the band will headline Glastonbury for the third time.
Those are all huge shows, but the fact remains that the Arctics came to Norwich. It might never happen again, but those that were there will never forget it. I know I won’t.
Videos
The crowd hold lights in the air as Arctic Monkeys perform Perfect Sense
The band performed a reworked version of Four Out Of Five
The Hives did a superb job of getting the crowd going
LEE PAYNE 