Читать книгу By George - Hilarious Tales from England's Most Fanatical Football Supporters - David Stanfield - Страница 7
ОглавлениеI slept all the way to Dover using Chubb as a pillow. He was quite comfy to lean on with the extra weight he carried – if you looked at him, you’d think he was hiding a beach ball up his jumper.
Once on the ferry we put the George suits on and this time we were joined by Bruce – arise, George the Third. The three of us stood at the back of the ferry, with the great shores of England still in sight, dressed as crusaders. We couldn’t believe the reaction – the boat was packed with English fans and they all wanted a photo with us.
Once off the ferry, it was time to pick up the most important thing to a Englishman: BEER and lots of it. We headed to a beer hypermarket and filled Dave’s van, and we even got Chubb a couple of bottles of Babycham. Our next stop came at a Belgian service station and Paul, Bruce and I got Georged up again before we crossed the border into Germany, almost invasion-style. When we got to the German border, they were checking passports. We were about forty cars from the checkpoint when the three of us stood up in Ian’s motor, with our heads sticking out of the sunroof, and started up a chorus of the theme from Dambusters. Arms raised like aeroplanes, we started belting out ‘Der, der, der, der, der der, der, der’ and the next thing we knew, all the English fans in the cars around us got out and joined in. The German border control didn’t have a clue what was going on and just started waving cars through without checking anyone’s passports.
Chubb had previously asked Ian to stop when he got a chance, as he needed the toilet, but had since fallen asleep. We were driving along the Autobahn, and I was thinking to myself how perfect everything was, when suddenly the car was filled with the most stomach churning smell of shit I’d ever smelt. ‘Oh my God, what the fuck is that smell?’ I desperately asked, trying to hold my nose. Ian slammed the brakes on, almost sending us all through the windscreen. Chubb, in his bad condition, had shit himself in his sleep.
We woke Chubb up as we piled out of the car. Everyone was retching, except Ian who screamed, ‘GET OUT YOU DIRTY BASTARD!’ Chubb ambled out of the car. The shit was all up his back and the shorts he was wearing were covered in it. ‘Chubb, you’ve got to get those clothes off, mate, and clean yourself up,’ Bruce said. Dave, Lee and Jimmy fell out of Dave’s van laughing their heads off. I just wanted to throw up – and unfortunately it all got too much for Paul and he was sick at the side of the road.
Chubb began stripping naked – his entire body was covered in shit. Ian threw him a couple of old rags to clean himself with, but all it was doing was spreading the shit rather than removing it. We got Chubb’s towel and shower gel out of his bag – now all we needed was a constant flow of water. So we improvised. We shook cans of beer up, opened them, and sprayed Chubb while he washed his body.
With Chubb cleaned up – sort of – and his clothes and towel dumped in the ditch, we set off again for Düsseldorf. We followed the sat nav until we’d reached our destination, but where were we? There wasn’t a camper van in sight; we were on a main street with lots of tall buildings. Ian drove down the street to see if we could find the camper hire firm. We’d been driving around for ten minutes when Dave flashed his lights for us to stop, so we pulled over and all got out. ‘What’s going on?’ said Dave. Ian explained that we couldn’t find the camper hire place, and we flagged down a police car. Two policemen got out and looked at the address, and they then started laughing and said, ‘Sorry, my English friends, but the place you are looking for is in Mulheim.’ ‘What part of Düsseldorf is that?’ I asked. The policeman replied ‘It’s not even in Düsseldorf – you’re in the wrong city. It’s about forty miles north from here.’
Bruce had the wrong details. ‘The wrong fucking city? I told you – let Bruce sort it out and he’ll fuck it up, he does this every fucking time.’ Dave wasn’t happy and he and Bruce started having a full-blown row. We had to separate the two of them as the police seemed like they were about to intervene and probably nick them both.
Finally we arrived at the correct location, in the correct city! My main concern was the beer getting warm. Luckily the place had several water fountains, so I emptied a crate of lager into one of them. Bruce went to sort the camper out, but there was more bad news. ‘Right, boys…we’ve got a bit of a problem!’ ‘What the fuck now?’ said Dave. ‘Because we’ve arrived later than expected, they’ve let our camper go. We’ve got to wait about three hours for one to be ready.’
I thought Dave would go fucking ballistic, but he didn’t get a chance as the boys were already tearing into Bruce. Bruce just stood there taking all the abuse the boys could give him. Ian said, ‘Fuck this – you’ve fucked up, Bruce, so you can sort it out. I’m not waiting three fucking hours, I’m going to Frankfurt now. You can stay here on your own and drive the camper to us’.
I went to the toilet before we left and when I got to the building where the toilets were, I found Lee gathering up ham rolls from a table laid out with refreshments. It was all free but it didn’t seem up to much – just a few rolls and bottles of drink. I was just about to go into the toilet when I saw two blokes pouring beer from a keg. ‘Is the beer free as well?’ I asked, to which they answered, ‘Yes, Germany are playing Costa Rica so we have invited all the local community to come and have a beer.’ A huge smile shot across my face – this guy had just said the magic words. FREE BEER.
I left the building and got to the lads, who were ready to go. ‘Look, lads, I know Bruce has fucked up, but I’m not leaving him here on his own. I’m staying,’ I announced. ‘Fine, but we’re not – we’ve already fucked about too much and we still ain’t got anywhere to stay,’ Ian shouted.
When the vehicles were out of sight, Bruce turned to me and said, ‘Cheers, Stan.’ ‘That’s OK, Bruce, I replied. ‘They’ve got free beer up there and a barbecue later!’ ‘Well I can’t drink. I’ve got to drive later. I’ll sort out the paperwork and see you up there in a bit,’ Bruce said.
It was nearing half-time in the opening game by the time Bruce eventually joined me. He looked astonished when he saw me. There I was on the table with a German hat and scarf on and my face painted, singing the ‘Ten German Bombers’ song, with all my new German friends joining in. Obviously I was pissed as fart.
Bruce grabbed my leg, looked up at me and said, ‘What the fucks going on?’ ‘They needed a song to sing and they asked me to teach them one. They fucking love it, Brucie baby!’ I shouted. Bruce turned and went outside to get himself some barbecue food.
Bruce almost had to drag me away from my new friends once the camper was ready to go. We we’re just about to pull off, when I realised the beer was still in the fountain. I dived (well fell out of the camper), staggered over to the fountain. Bruce helped me load the fridge of the camper with the lager and we were off to Frankfurt.
