Madejski's circus

October 26th: Reading v Leicester City (Championship)

I leave work at 12.30 and catch the bus to the city centre. This bus goes down Melton Road, and at the junction where that road meets Loughborough Road, on the opposite side, there are some benches. I look to my left as we pass these benches now, and I see a depressing sight. Middle-aged men sitting there drinking cheap cans of tramp fuel. It's a few minutes before 1pm. As the bus reaches the bottom of Charles Street, another depressing sight: everyone standing outside the job centre is wearing at least one item of Adidas clothing.

[Here's a tip for those who find themselves drinking on a bench in Leicester at 12.55 on a Monday afternoon: Stop buying Special Brew and find something constructive to do. Preferably something that won't kick the absolute fuck out of your liver, kill your remaining brain cells, ruin your eyesight or seriously affect your ability to refrain from pissing yourself in public.

I also have tips for those currently seeking a job:
1. Do not wear Adidas tracksuit bottoms to an interview. Also try not to tuck your trousers into your socks, you look a cunt.
2. Put together a cv and apply for jobs instead of hanging around and smoking outside the job centre in large groups before going to the pub for the day.
3. Youporn.com does not exist.]

From the bus, I walk up to WH Smith where I pick up a copy of The Drawing of the Three before making my way to the railway station. Ten minutes after I arrive, a slightly delayed 1333 service to London St Pancras arrives and departs a few minutes behind schedule (mostly because the 1326 didn't leave until 1332).

I manage to get a decent chunk of my new book read before the train reaches St Pancras, where I check the time and make my way to the Underground. The westbound Circle Line train takes me to Paddington for twenty past three, giving me 28 minutes before the service on which I'm booked leaves. Except it doesn't appear on any boards. Panic is avoided when I notice there's hardly anyone queueing for the customer service desk, so I ask a large woman how I identify my train. "Restrictions have been lifted, so you can get the 1545." Marvellous. First stop - Reading.

I find platform 4 and enter the train at carriage C. The near end of carriage C is a little crowded with bemused travellers looking for their reserved seats in carriage B, which it appears South West Trains have neglected to include. With a missing carriage on this train and the apparent cancellation of the 1515 service, the train is a tiny bit overpopulated. I feel somewhat relieved that I'm only on for one stop.

Arriving in Reading at shortly after 4.15, I wander about long enough to visit a cash machine and buy chewing gum before putting my life at risk by crossing the road to get to the bus stop. The number 52 bus has me at the stadium well before 5, so I decide to get my souvenir purchase out of the way before finding some food.

Full, and only £4 worse off, I come out of Pizza Hut at about 6pm. After crossing the car park I find a couple of City fans walking along the main road.
"Where's the pub?"
I shrug in response. Two more arrive from the other direction.
"Where's the pub?"
I look back at the first two. We all shrug. It seems they've been given some substandard directions. Eventually, a couple of Reading fans are kind enough to direct the thirsty gents to a pub.
"How far away is that?" they enquire.
"About a 20-minute walk."

The first two decide that a pint isn't worth a 40-minute round trip, and end up walking with me to the ground. They've travelled from Monmouth to be at today's game, so fair play to them. Shortly after we reach the away end, someone taps me on the shoulder.
"You again." I turn around. It's Radio Leicester's John Sinclair.
"Evening, John. Good trip?"
"Well..." John tells me about the traffic problems encountered on the way down. He makes the suggestion that seeing as I'm always at the ground before them, perhaps he and and his colleague Mr Stringer should travel to away games with me. Yeah, good plan John...

I listen in as John shoves a microphone under the faces of my two temporary friends, and afterwards we wish him a good evening as he wanders off to find something else of interest.

I have several conversations in the run-up to kick-off, before finally settling on a seat at about 7.30. Well before the start of the game, abuse is being hurled at Chris Coleman, who is here for Sky TV.

The game starts interestingly enough, and before long Reading have created their first chance. Not long after, their second. Then another. And another. How the first 40 minutes passes without a Reading goal, I'll never understand. Just before half time, City get a corner at the far end. Matt Oakley floats it towards the head of Martyn Waghorn, who diverts it into the far corner. At the break, City lead.

In the second half, the home side seem to have lost something but still create. The hour mark arrives, still no Reading goal. Innumerable scoring opportunities have been created and squandered. On 65, Royals boss Brendan Rogers makes a decision: lively striker Simon Church (the man who looks most like scoring, to be honest) and crap midfielder Gylfi Sigurdsson are coming off for Shane Long and Jimmy Kebe. This just happens to come during a City fans' chant of "You're getting sacked in the morning", giving some of the home fans the opportunity to join in. This attitude is obviously not popular with some - furious arguments are visible from here.

Further Reading chances come and go - nothing. The tension among home fans grows more obvious by the minute. More chances wasted. Frustration. As away fans, we're enjoying it. Literally nobody around me can believe what we're seeing. The second half has been nothing short of comedy football. And after the previous 75 minutes, nobody can imagine the opposition scoring. Chance after chance after chance, simply frittered away as if they were in infinite supply. And then it ends - the final whistle blows. Three more points for the Foxes, another miserable defeat for Reading.

[Interestingly, Brendan Rogers is related to the late former host of the mind-fucking gibberish-based quiz show 3-2-1, Ted Rogers. Other relatives include ex-Leicester and Trees non-footballer Alan Rogers, American kids' tv favourite Mr Rogers, country singer Kenny Rogers and fictional 20s comic strip character Buck Rogers. Guess which ones I made up.]

Eventually, I find the bus to take me back to the station, and we're there about 20 minutes before the train is set to depart at 2346. I wait on the platform. No other Leicester shirts, I might be in luck here. A few blue and white hoops, but understandably they're a little sullen. Two minutes before departure time, just when I think I'm going to have a nice quiet trip home, half a dozen obviously pissed up City fans arrive. Shit.

The brief ride back to London is actually not that bad. My annoyance threshold barely tested, I am joined by the group on my tube trip back to St Pancras, where the last train back to Leicester leaves at 12.15.

Within a few minutes of us leaving St Pancras, I make my excuses and move carriages (no chance I'll be able to sleep with the noisy fucker sitting opposite me). Then I get the feeling that we've stopped. I must be imagining things, because we would've been told wouldn't we?

Ten minutes later, the announcement comes: we're waiting for some maintenance to be done on the train, it doesn't appear to be running properly. After a few more minutes of being stationary, I decide sleep is a good idea. It turns out I'm right, because the next thing I see, through blurry eyes, is Leicester station. It's 3.15am, which means the train was delayed for a little over an hour. The best thing to do now is to get straight into a taxi - an hour's walk home isn't an option, considering I have to be up at 6.30 for work.

Leicester just won on telly. Imagine that.

Final score: Reading 0 Leicester 1
Time: 15 hours 10 minutes
Ticket: £22.50
Train: £25
Total: £47.50

[By the way, anybody wishing to post a comment is more than welcome, as long as you're not advertising fucking bingo websites. Fuck off Mukesh, we're not interested.]