Читать книгу By George - Hilarious Tales from England's Most Fanatical Football Supporters - David Stanfield - Страница 14

At the van and Lee said, ‘You ain’t going to believe this – we’ve just had Dave on the phone and he’s only just picked Nessa up.’ ‘Hang on, her flight got in at 10am and it’s now 2pm! Why was he so late?’ I asked. Ian couldn’t wait to tell me. ‘He only went to the wrong airport!’

Dave had driven to Düsseldorf Airport but Nessa had landed at Venlo, which was in Holland. Not only had he gone to the wrong airport, he’d gone to the wrong country! Bruce especially enjoyed the story, as when we’d been in Chicago in May 2005, he’d travelled with us to the airport in Chicago only to be told that he’d booked himself on a flight from a different airport. Which Dave had obviously never let him forget. Now the tables were turned!

We went to find somewhere to stay. After twenty minutes we saw a large hostel, so we drove in and followed the road around until we came to a beautiful open grassy area with lots of trees and wildlife running around. Another camper van had followed us in. The passengers got out and the man approached me. ‘Hello, my name is Karl and this is my wife Greta and our son Helmut,’ he said. After chatting with the couple they invited me into their camper to have a beer. Helmut asked his Dad to play football, leaving Greta and me alone in the camper. She started to come on to me, and as she was a very attractive lady in her mid-thirties, I didn’t mind the way her chat was going. Karl waved to his wife through the window and she waved back with her left hand, while her right hand played with my cock under the table. I just smiled back at him out of the window, trying not to show my pleasure. I was getting close to the point of no return when her son walked in. ‘Mummy, can you play football with us?’ he asked. She let go of my cock and said, ‘Ja, ja Helmut.’ Then Karl walked in. ‘Stan, you have some great friends – do you play?’ I almost choked on my beer and said, ‘Whenever I can, Karl!’ I got up and walked out.

Ian turned up with Dave and Nessa. Nessa actually looked very happy – probably a lot happier than she’d been when Dave had finally picked her up. We sat around drinking for a while and then these two German fellows came walking up to us shouting and screaming. ‘Right, what’s the problem mate?’ I asked. ‘This is protected land – you must leave now, before I call the police!’ one of them said. ‘Call the police? It was the police who escorted us here as we’ve got nowhere else to stay!’ ‘The police told you to stay here? No, they would not do that,’ he said. ‘We arrived at our campsite and the Czechs are still there so we can’t go there until tomorrow. The police told us we could stay here for one night only,’ I told him. The guy said, ‘I will have to call the government, you must have permission from the government.’ ‘Please go and ask them and remember to tell them that the police brought us here,’ I said. He walked away and I reckoned we had about twenty minutes before the police turned up and moved us on. We were parked on protected land and there was no way the government would allow that. But the council geezer soon returned, smiling. ‘My English friends, I have spoken to the government and they have allowed you to stay for one night, but you must take all your rubbish away with you. Is that OK?’ he said. I couldn’t believe it – he’d believed every word!

We went to the city centre where all the pubs and streets were packed, it was brilliant. Nessa and I found a bar serving cocktails and decided to try and drink our way through the whole list. There were about thirty different drinks on the list, but we were up to the challenge, and we’d had six each when Ian walked in. ‘Alright, fancy a cocktail?’ I said. ‘Fuck off, that’s a woman’s drink that is!’ Ian replied. ‘Just try one,’ said Nessa. We ordered Ian a cocktail which the barman dressed up with tinsel, fruit and even a sparkler. Ian took a swig and declared, ‘That’s fucking lovely!’

Outside it was all kicking off with the police, the English and a load of Turks. There was a bit of a stand-off until Del Boy off Only Fools and Horses intervened – sorry, I mean Ian. The crowd parted to let him through and this great big geezer walked straight through the crowd, cocktail in hand with the sparkler still going, oblivious to the fact that there was a fight going on. We all went back to the cocktail bar – what a night we had in there, we were all hammered and covered in more decoration than what was in our glasses. Two lads from Northern Ireland joined us and called my Da up, as he was having his 65th birthday party back home. They wished him happy birthday, then broke out into some song about the Orange men. At 5am, with only me, Bruce and Lee left standing, we walked back to the camper. ‘That’s it, I can’t walk any further,’ Bruce announced. He climbed over a railing and laid down in the bushes and said, ‘This will do me for the night.’ ‘What’s it like, Bruce?’ I asked and he replied, ‘Well comfortable.’ I climbed over, lay down next to him and went to sleep. The next thing I knew, Bruce was shouting, ‘Come on Stan, the taxi’s here!’ I got up and asked, ‘How did you get a taxi? What did you tell him, “the bush, Cologne”?’ Anyway, we told the taxi driver where we wanted to go and he proceeded to drive about 200 metres before stopping. We were already at the camper van and he charged us five Euros for the pleasure!

The following morning we left, with the guy from the council and two policemen watching our exit. We saw two camper vans with England flags and decided to follow them. After about half hour, they turned off the road along a dust track, and we soon saw a load of campers, tents and cars stretched out along the River Rhine. We saw a space straight away next to another camper, but there was a small table and a tent taking up all the space. ‘Stop the van, were parking here’ I said. Bruce stopped the camper and we jumped out, unpegged the tent and moved it out of the way. We put the tent back up nearby, Bruce parked the camper, and we set up camp.

Dave started talking to this guy whose red van was next to us. He shouted, ‘Stan, this blokes from Dunstable and his sister lives in Slip End!’ ‘Hello mate, my name’s Andy,’ he said. ‘Hello I’m Stan – what’s your sister’s name?’ I asked. He told me her name was Hilary and she lived in the old farmhouse. ‘Fuck me, what a small world. Not only do I know your sister, but I used to squat in that house before she bought it!’ I told Andy. My last memory of the squat before we got evicted was of someone having a shit on the floor, but I didn’t mention that. ‘Who’s staying in that camper?’ I asked. Andy replied, ‘Young lads from Doncaster, here they come now!’ I saw five lads walking towards us from the river. ‘Alright lads? We’re your new neighbours,’ I said. They said hello back and went into their camper. ‘Miserable bastards,’ I thought, and carried on drinking with Andy and the rest of my lads.

An hour later, an eastern European geezer and his family walked through our camp and started giving us all dirty looks – they then got into the small tent, which we had moved on our arrival. The bloke then came out again and told us to be quiet. I told him that if he wanted peace and quiet he’d better move to a place where there weren’t 5,000 England fans. He started going mental and I asked him, ‘Where are you from, anyway?’ ‘HUNGARY!’ he shouted and Ian immediately yelled ‘SECEF!’ The Hungarian man looked at Ian blankly so Ian said it again, as did the rest of the lads. They’d remembered what I told them – that ‘secef’ meant ‘fuck off’. Obviously it didn’t really mean ‘fuck off’ – it wasn’t even a Hungarian word – but after being told to ‘secef’ for about the fiftieth time, the bloke packed up his car and drove away. His wife shouted something at me as they left, which I believe actually was ‘fuck off’ in Hungarian.

With all the commotion we hadn’t noticed that our neighbours from Doncaster had surfaced and were sitting outside their own van having a beer. ‘Fuck that, lads – if we’re going to be neighbours we’re going to get pissed together!’ I told them. The Doni lads were Yeom, Robs, Crawf, Chubb and Flips. About 2 pm, Ian said, ‘Right, I ain’t sitting here all afternoon just getting pissed. I’m cultured. I’m going to walk into Cologne, who’s coming?’ Steve, Bruce, Paul and Kev agreed to join him. This reminded me of the time in Chicago, when we were all sitting on the end of the pier and Ian was hanging out of his arse after being out on the piss the night before. That time he said ‘Right, I’m not sitting here all afternoon getting pissed. You see that big building over there [pointing at the Sears Tower]? I’m going to climb it.’ Off he went. We had visions of Ian scaling the Sears Tower like King Kong, but he just used the stairs.

Later on, as Jimmy, Andy and I sat in our deck chairs drinking, Andy pointed something out. ‘Stan…is that two girls making out in the river?’ I looked and two girls were indeed pleasuring each other in the river. ‘Quality! Beer and a lesbian show, it doesn’t get better than this!’ I said. The girls stayed in the water for about half an hour and then came walking towards us. As they reached us I said, ‘Hello girls, would you care to join us for a beer?’ They did. I introduced us and Lee, who had joined us. They introduced themselves as Hilda and Imogen, and said they were from Finland. After chatting to them for a while, I asked, ‘Were you playing with each other in the river?’ They looked at each other and laughed. Hilda said, ‘Oh you saw us, did you? Did you enjoy what your saw?’ ‘Well I’d sooner join in than watch, but I suppose you’re not into men?’ I replied. ‘Of course we are into men,’ said Imogen. ‘Yes, we’re girlfriends but we often have a man or two sleep with us!’ ‘So do you fancy a foursome now, with me and Jim?’ I asked. ‘Yes, why not but where?’ said Imogen. ‘In the camper van, we can shut the curtains’ said Jimmy. ‘But we don’t mind people watching!’ Hilda replied. ‘That’s it, I’m coming to watch this!’ said Lee and all five of us went into the camper.

When we were inside Jimmy went to grab Imogen, but she pulled away. ‘Do you not want us to put a show on for you first, to get you excited?’ Imogen said. We excitedly agreed. With me and Jimmy standing next to each other and Lee sat in the passenger’s seat, the girls started to do their stuff. ‘Right, how about letting us have a go then?’ Jimmy asked after a couple of minutes. The girls, still holding and touching each other said, ‘OK, but you must be ready for us now!’ I was more than ready, but Jimmy seemed to be having a bit of trouble. ‘Look, I can’t do it with Lee sitting watching me!’ he said, and told Lee to fuck off. After Lee had reluctantly left, Hilda said. ‘Still nothing is happening, Jim…do you not want to fuck me?’ Jimmy was in panic mode by this point, and he went into the bathroom and started to wank himself silly. I was pissing myself and shouted, ‘Come on, Jimmy – for Queen and country!’ ‘Fuck off, Stan – you’re not helping!’ replied Jimmy. ‘Oh well, we must go now’ said Hilda, who was obviously the boss in the relationship. I grabbed Imogen and said, ‘What about us getting it on?’ ‘Maybe later!’ she said, and with that they were gone. I couldn’t believe it!

We spent the rest of the afternoon drinking with the Doni lads – they’d all gone for an afternoon sleep and couldn’t believe what they’d missed, but they didn’t miss the opportunity to take the piss out of Jimmy. We’d made up a special song for him: ‘Jim Allsop Allsop, his new name is Floppy Flop, we know he can’t get it up, Jim Allflop Allflop’. Genius. About 7pm, the two girls came back with more Finnish girls and a load of Swedish blokes. They all wanted to play us at football and of course we were up for it, so we grabbed a load of English blokes on our way to the pitch next to the camp. Turned out these lads were in the Army, and they were based in Germany. We all lined up and sang our national anthems and by the time Sweden kicked off, it was virtually dusk. We’d only been playing ten minutes when Imogen walked up and started to kiss me – of course I forgot all about the match and we left the pitch and lay down on the floor. ‘I told you “maybe later”,’ she said.

We were so busy that I didn’t even hear them stop for half time, but eventually I realised Dave was screaming. ‘Where is he? Where’s my fucking captain? You normally can’t shut him up and I haven’t heard him at all. Where the fuck is he?’ Imogen and I separated, and I went up to Dave and the rest of my team and said ‘Sorry, I was just getting it on with the Swedish right back’. Everyone looked horrified. ‘It’s OK, it’s that Finnish girl from this afternoon!’ I added. Everyone laughed and also looked a bit relieved.

We kicked off the second half and I ran to the corner, where Imogen was waiting. She pushed me onto the floor and was just about to get on top of me when the next thing I knew she was gone. Someone had rugby tackled her straight off of my cock. What the…? Who the…? Then I found out: It was Hilda. ‘She’s my bitch, fucking leave her alone,’ she said. I didn’t argue – I’d had my bit in the first half. I jogged away and tried to get involved in the match…I just had to find out where the ball was in the darkness.

The match ended 2-2, and we lost on penalties. We agreed to have a rematch the following day and invited everyone back to our camp for a beer. With Dave’s van blasting out the tunes, our camp area was rocking. ‘You got anything to burn around here, Stan?’ asked one of the Army lads. ‘I’ve got the very thing. Follow me down to the river. Earlier that day, we’d seen some Germans making a tepee out of branches, to use as a sun shade, so I thought why not use it as a fire. Another army lad, Spud, joined us with his firelighters and it wasn’t long before the tepee was a roaring fire.

An hour after we’d started the fire, Ian, Bruce, Kev, Steve and Paul came back. They told us that they’d got lost and had then seen a massive fire start. ‘That’s got to be Stan’s handiwork’, they thought, and followed the fire home, like the three wise men following the star to baby Jesus. The boys were shocked when they found the camp they’d left was now rave central. Bruce came up to me and said, ‘I’m going to sleep now, but if any of these birds are up for it, send them into my tent and I’ll give them a right good pounding.’ He got into his tent and zipped it up. Of course I then had a chat with Hilda about winding Bruce up, and she agreed. She went to Bruce’s tent, unzipped it and put her head in and said, ‘Bruce? I want to come in and fuck you, Bruce…’. We were all cracking up and waited for Bruce to drag Hilda in and give her in his words ‘A right good pounding.’ ‘Fuck off. I’m trying to sleep so just leave me alone,’ came the response. We couldn’t believe it, Bruce, who reckons he’s always up for the ride, was too busy sleeping? Surely that couldn’t be right.

I woke up at about 10am, fell out of the van and had a beer with Ian and Andy. Ian told us a story about Bruce from the night before, and suddenly everything fell into place. On their way back Bruce had been busting for a shit, but had nowhere to go and hadn’t been able to hold it in. Just like Chubb, he’d shit himself. We fell off our chairs backwards laughing – no wonder Bruce declined the offer from Hilda!

About 1pm, we all trudged out to the football pitch to face Sweden again. We all lined up to do the national anthems, but as Sweden were just finishing theirs, six riot vans turned up and all the coppers got out in full riot gear. Someone had called the police and informed them that there were two large groups of English and Swedish fans meeting on a field for a prearranged fight. Once Dave explained what was actually going on, the police stayed to watch the match. It all ended 2-2 again, just like the night before, and true to form England lost on penalties.

After the match Paul took the camper to fill up the water supply – but when he came back there was massive dent in the rear side boot door. He’d driven off without locking the door and had driven right into a big tow bar on the back of another vehicle. That was the deposit on the van gone, then. Later that day, as S.E.C.E.F, the Doni boys and the Army Lads sat round drinking, our friends Luke and Tony turned up and so did a TV crew wanting an interview. The interview started with me saying, ‘Day twelve in the Big World Cup house and England are still in it’. Cue the rest of the lads singing ‘WE’RE NOT GOING HOME’ while the camera panned around all of them. It was match day and our third and final group game against Sweden. Bruce and I Georged up for the match and although it was only a ten-minute walk from the train station to the ground, it took us nearly three hours to get there. It was endless; everyone had seen us on the TV and everyone wanted our photo.

Eventually we reached the stadium and went our separate ways as for this game we were not in the same area. I was supposed to be sitting on the third tier, but decided to try my luck getting into the VIP area. As I reached the entrance, I grabbed an English bloke who was with his son and said, ‘Does your son want a photo with me, mate?’ ‘Of course!’ he replied. ‘Let’s get one with all the German security, that’ll look great,’ I suggested. We walked towards all the VIP security staff, who stopped whatever checks they were doing and started pointing at the famous St George who was approaching them. I got to where they were all standing and said ‘Before I take my seat, could I please get a photo of the best German security staff with myself and my nephew?’ I was pointing towards the young English lad. I stood in the middle of about thirty security staff, who were almost fighting each other to get close to me. After several pictures, the lad went off with his dad and I turned towards the VIP entrance. They just let me through without asking to see a ticket!

I saw a spare seat in the second row. That would do nicely! I looked up to where I was supposed to be sitting, in the gods, and thought to myself, ‘what a result!’ Until, that is, I heard a voice say, ‘Excuse me mate, I think you’re in my seat!’ I looked round and this English bloke was looking at me. ‘I know I am mate, to be honest I’ve blagged my way in here. How about you sit down and I sit on your lap?’ I said hopefully. ‘I ain’t being funny, mate, but I’ve just paid a tout six hundred pounds for this seat and I ain’t paid all that money to have fucking St George sit on my knee,’ he said sternly. I thought that was fair enough, so I got up to look for another seat. I eventually found one, but true to form I spent the majority of the game in the VIP bar – and, true to form, England drew 2-2 with Sweden. We’d won the group and now faced Ecuador in the last sixteen.

I left the stadium and met Bruce, Lee, Dave and Ian. ‘Where were you? I kept calling you, but you didn’t answer!’ Ian shouted. ‘I blagged my way into the VIP area, what the hell are you talking about?’ I replied. ‘You twat,’ said Ian. ‘All the WAGs were sitting in the seats where you were supposed to be!’ I couldn’t believe it – all of sudden my VIP blag didn’t seem that great an idea. I could have had the world’s media at my feet, surrounded by the Wives and Girlfriends of the England team. Gutted.

Dave and I got off the tram in the city and the boys carried on going towards the campsite. We met up with Nessa, Paul, Kev and Army Andy; they were all steaming and it didn’t take me and Dave long to catch them up. I spoke to a Swedish bloke and we swapped shirts. ‘Nice gesture, Stan’ said Dave, but actually I’d swapped because my shirt was soaking with sweat and his was dry. It was fine until Paul flew at me, trying to rip the shirt off my back and screaming, ‘What are you wearing that shit for? Get it off you wanker!’ Andy grabbed Paul, but he was insistent. I’d also been given a blow-up hand with the Swedish flag on it, and Paul grabbed the hand and launched it into the direction of the Swedes. He completely missed them, of course, but he did knock half a dozen drinks over. He was going mental – he jumped onto a table where a bloke was dancing, took his shirt off and threw the geezer off the table. Paul raised his hands like a boxer winning a fight. Dave told him to calm down, but Paul just got Dave in a headlock and started choking him. He eventually let go and ran up to a woman in her late fifties. Surely he wasn’t going to start on her? He didn’t – instead he tried to kiss her and she tried to kiss him back. She was as drunk as Paul, though, and neither of them could properly stand up straight, never mind plant a kiss on the other.

We staggered back to the site at about 7am, and I noticed that all the army tents and the Army Lads’ minibus had gone. ‘Andy, where’s your boys? They ain’t gone without you, have they?’ I asked. ‘No mate, were leaving at two in the morning,’ Andy replied. ‘Andy, it’s 7am…they’ve gone without you!’ I told him. ‘Oh SHIT. Oh well, I’ll just have to stay with you lot!’ Andy announced.

We got to our camp and found some German guy pissing on a tent with an English flag on it. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you bastard?’ I screamed and started chasing him through the campsite. I only chased him for about ten seconds, mind you, as I could barely walk, never mind run. I went back to our camp and Paul and Andy we’re standing by the tent laughing. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. ‘Dave’s shagging Nessa.’ Paul answered. It was so funny, each time Dave pumped himself into Nessa the tent moved. We stood and watched for all of thirty seconds and then it was over. Dave must have had some Viagra to last that long.

We opened the camper door and there asleep on the sofa was a lad from Caddington called Anthony – but we called him Scuz. I didn’t even know he was coming over. Andy got into the camper and was soon asleep on the sofa opposite Scuz, and seconds later I too passed out. I was woken by Ian going mental outside shouting, ‘Well if he don’t get up in a minute, were going without him!’ I thought ‘Shit, we must be on the move again’, so I opened the door and said ‘It’s alright, I’m ready to go!’ and got into Ian’s motor. ‘What are you doing, Stan?’ Bruce asked. ‘I don’t know. Where are we going?’ I answered. ‘Well we’re going home and you’re staying here,’ Bruce then told me. They were actually trying to get Kev up! I got out, flopped onto a deckchair and passed out again. I woke up and to find Andy sitting next to me looking somewhat the worse for wear. ‘Will you get into trouble for being late back to base?’ I asked. ‘I’m in deep shit,’ he replied. I then said, ‘We’re driving to Dortmund today, why don’t you come with us and then get a train back to your base?’ Andy agreed. Dave came out of the camper and said, ‘You’ve outdone yourself this time, Stan. You’ve already kidnapped a Bulgarian and now you’re going to get a bloke court marshalled!’

Before we left I said goodbye to the Doni lads, who were still in their camper. I said we’d call them when we got to Stuttgart. We also said goodbye to Scuz, who was going home, and to Luke and Tony who were staying in Cologne. By the time we left the makeshift campsite, it was deserted. Days before you couldn’t drop a pin for at least a mile between campers, cars and tents and now it just looked like a big field on the banks of the River Rhine. But did that field have some stories to tell!