Here's another offering from Chris and, just to keep things topical, it's a season spent under the shadow of relegation. Oh, where's Trevor Whymark when we need him?

This was a season that I really enjoyed although we struggled for most of it, keeping bottom place warm for just a few other teams. Hopes were high after finishing seventh in our first season back after two consecutive promotions.

Or at least they were with me. What did become clear was that crowds had dipped a bit as some fans gauged that we had run out of momentum and they fell further as Town started to struggle really badly.

I had to have a look at a reference book for this one just to get a few games right in my mind. The 1981/2 winter was bitter and I have never seen a season disrupted as much since. Oddly enough, it wasn’t that Town’s pitch was snowbound. It stood up to the rigours well. However, even clubs in the south had to cope with frosts of minus 20 centigrade so massive disruption was inevitable.

One thing that cropped up as a result of this bit of research was the date that the season started as far as the league went. As I thought I had remembered, it was about the last week in August.  This seems far more sensible than today where, if you were involved in the play offs (fat chuffing chance-sorry about that word, I have just realised that I am becoming South Yorkified), you would have a close season of just two months from the end of May to the first Saturday in August. (I just looked at the three options that were thrown up on spell check for Yorkify, and two were horrify and mortify. How spookily appropriate). Now where was I……..?

Yup, Leicester at home and a young Gary Lineker outshone by Kevin Drinkell in my book. Two all in the end against a team that had just come down from Division 1 and had won at Anfield within living memory. The only thing that overshadowed it was a National Front demo in Cleethorpes that had attracted some undesirables from Leicester along as well. We had a good crowd of over 11,000 which was about 1,000 down from our average the previous season, a figure that hasn’t been bettered since. We had played some games in the replacement for the Anglo Scottish Cup. This competition was called the Group Cup, a competition we won later in the season.

I was disappointed and amazed by the poor attendances for the early games in mid August. I thought the fans would swarm for any so-called competitive match. Their loss not mine though. First up were Chesterfield who we despatched 1-0 with a very late goal and then Sheffield United were beaten in front of a marginally bigger gate to the tune of 2-0. They were about to play their only season in Division 4 having missed a vital penalty in their last game of the previous season in a style Grimsby would mimic in 2005/6.

The last game in this round was Donny Rovers away. British Rail ran a football special to this. It seems unreal that they used to run these trains even to Lincolnshire Cup games in those days but we weren’t complaining and met Anch at Donny. Anch was a Rovers fan who went to the same Poly as Don and probably didn’t suspect that this was to be the first in a long series of Mariners games he would watch, primarily for a good all day drinking session.

Belle Vue was a bit of a tip in those days even in comparison to a long line of holes that I came to visit. However, a 2 0 win and we didn’t care. Batchy was taking the mick out of Rovers in goal but then he probably didn’t know what was coming this season. I did like the brainless Donny chant, “We’re the boys who make the noise ooh ah ooh ooh ah” and we sang it on the way to Town away games in later years when we’d had a good few. The festivities were complete when an irate Donny fan was kicked off the special using his backside as a brake as he bounced down the platform.

This was the first time I had been on a football special, the only real downside of which was that there was an alcohol ban although I hadn’t become an obsessive lunchtime swiller at this point. I don’t recall it happening on this day, but Donny station was a bit of a melting pot on Saturdays and it wasn’t unusual for the communication cord to get a tug if a train full of Leeds or Wednesday fans were passing through. You did know however, that at least the light bulbs on your train wouldn’t be used as weapons as they’d normally been disposed of by Scunthorpe on the way out. It was also amazing how many fans seemed stupefied by orange juice. I shouldn’t really laugh but it did seem like a rite of passage to travel on one of these and word is they are going to be coming back.

A few days later, we won 2-0 at Watford and I caught up with the news of this laid on the bedroom floor listening to the faithful Paull Hunsley Electric Wireless Show. I managed to move to the armchair for the Saturday afternoon commentary on the 2-1 win at Orient. I moved to it but not from it as a result of a heavy night at The Barge.

Next up was QPR at home and a 2-1 win which left us sitting well near the top of the division. This was followed by Charlton and whilst I was pleased to miss a 2-0 loss in what would prove to be a rare defeat away to this club, I was miffed that I had missed three southern games before I had a chance to go back to Uni.

The rot had set in now with further defeats to Norwich and Wednesday at home. The last one was particularly hard to bear as my Harrington jacket was copiously sh*t upon by a seagull, that must have been suffering from acute cholera after a curry eating contest, as I left the ground. I was almost glad to get back to Colchester. Town won what would prove to be their last game for months at Bolton before going down by the same 2-1 score to Cambridge at home.

However, all was not lost, as next up was Luton away. I had experienced real fear at the corresponding fixture only eight months earlier but, in what was a sure sign that I was completely stupid as far as Town were concerned, I thought why not? Luton had an exceptional side that year and although we didn’t play that badly we were absolutely pasted 6-0. Ever the optimist, I took some comfort in the fact that I was unlikely to get my head kicked in on the way out.

We did have a fair few fans there and we were all getting drenched on the open terrace. However, we performed the conga and a mass passable re-enactment of “Singing in the Rain” to the astonishment of the home fans who, for once, were looking in our end for a different reason other than to select someone for a good shoeing afterwards. We really let them know what they were missing with a chorus of “We’re getting wet, we’re getting wet, you’re not.”

I bumped into an Essex student, Tommy, fresh from Man City’s annual defeat at Arsenal who seemed impressed with our fans’ showing. What I did learn from the Man City fans at Uni was that they had a long line in irony and self deprecation which they still have to this day. We had a companiable trip back to Colchester and then set off for the regular Saturday night atrocity. I lost touch with nearly everyone I met at Uni within a few years, which was a shame as I did meet a few cracking people, especially crazy exiled football fans. I wonder what he is up to now.

Unfortunately, I missed a one all draw at Derby a few weeks later when Kevin Moore is supposed to have scored a belting long range equaliser in the last minute. We needed to start winning again to exorcise the Luton defeat though. Because we had won four games very early on in the season, we weren’t in the bottom three as yet, but were sliding gradually.

I used up another life at Chelsea when I stood on the Shed with the lad who had come up for their defeat at Grimsby the previous year. Tony Ford scored a quick equaliser and I momentarily forgot where I was. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that I was classed as such an insignificant four-eyed twat that I wasn’t worth a blood stain on their DM boots. It was an extremely paranoid trip on the tube afterwards as I thought a few disgruntled boot boys might decide to exact revenge a bit later on.

I had bumped into a few London based Town fans at an away League Cup tie at Watford where the roles were reversed in a 3-1 defeat, having beaten them 1-0 at home in the first leg. In a sign of our elevated status from the previous season’s finish, we had not had to contest the first round. I had gone to the game quite confident of progress after our 2-0 league win there but...

It was a sign of a bit more confidence travelling on my own that I went to this game without company. Then, as now, I relied on public transport but I sometimes feel a bit more independent as I have to make a bigger effort to get anywhere. It was a bit of a trek getting from Colchester to Liverpool Street and then over to Euston for the slow train to Watford. It also didn’t help that Colchester station was nowhere near the town centre, which was where we were based. I think this is where I really came into my own as a traveller and started taking the chance of finding my own way around. I didn’t know that it was the start of a lot of travel and not just for the football.

Anyway, as I left the ground and headed for Watford station, a Town fan introduced himself and then I ended up meeting Rob Moss and Big Jim. I would have been astonished if I’d known then that these lads, among others, would become close friends to this day. I’ve been off the radar now and again but whenever we have met up again, it is as if no time has passed. This for me has been the greatest gift of being a Town fan. The camaraderie and sharing the many highs and lows are beyond price. Big Jim now lives in Grimsby and regularly does the away games with Chuckler and I despite regular protestations that this is definitely the last ******* time we come here again.

I thought it would be rude not to visit my dear old mum and dad for a whole ten weeks of term so went back in November. As luck would have it, we were playing Newcastle. What a coincidence! The much maligned Bobby Mitchell scored a good one for us in a one all draw and I went back to Colchester a few days later. Ged, my Sunderland supporting mate, was quite conscientious in going to classes and lectures, but if I had been up North for the weekend, he would meet me at Colchester station and we would have a Monday lunchtime atrocity, when in his parlance, we would get completely mortal. I couldn’t work out why I did it because I always felt physically wrecked and not a little shamed afterwards but it had become an institution.

The pubs in Colchester shut at half two in the afternoon and we would normally finish up in the Artilleryman up the road from us. It was normally after the eighth pint that I would finally give up on the four o’ clock mathematical economics class, which was my worst subject by a distance. When everyone else in the house got back, (there were five of us sharing the plushest student house in Colchester), they would be met by two paralytic housemates. We made sure it wasn’t our turn to cook on that day and repaid our friends’ efforts with a struggle not to end up face down in the plate.

About two weeks later, the eastern side of the country was hit by a Siberian blast with most of the country soon affected by heavy snow and record low temperatures. This had an impact on my personal football fortunes. One was that after playing Oldham away in early December, the team didn’t have anyone to play. The other was that I was in a shared house with several southern wussies who insisted that the central heating not only be turned on, but up high as well. This meant our bills for the 5 bedroomed, 2 living roomed, dining roomed and spare roomed house were astronomical and virtually skinted me.

I was on a smaller grant and my parents couldn’t afford to financially sub me, which didn’t help my self esteem when committing my regular atrocities. I also didn’t have the financial strength of my richer housemates, barring Ged who had a proper bank account and wasn’t afraid of running up debt if necessary. Fortunately, we had invested in a chest freezer at the start of term and got ten weeks shopping in one go at large discounts negotiated by our financially astute house member, Joe, who had done some of the driving to matches the previous season. At least we didn’t starve like some other students were just about doing. Having said that, friends in more wretched accommodation were coming around to get warm and we’d normally knock up a hot meal as well. The only thing that wasn’t on offer was fish finger sandwiches, which I normally polished off with Ged as the ideal meal to soak up cider.

I dutifully signed on the dole in mid December and confirmed that I was staying in Colchester for Christmas whilst holding my suitcase and asking if he could hurry up as my train for Grimsby was leaving soon. There was no festive football though. I remember coming back from my aunt’s house on Boxing Day night and nearly baking in my coat as the temperature soared to minus three. In fact, for the next few days, there was a brief thaw where the temperature reached freezing and many of us had our sleeves rolled up when out.

I therefore took a chance and booked myself on the supporters’ coach to our FA Cup game at Millwall which was ruled out by a cloudburst as soon as we hit London. A frantic effort was made to find a game and Orient were contacted and said, yes, that was fine, they could accommodate hundreds of Town fans, handicapped supporters as well? No problem. Oh, Millwall fans as well? (They had flagged us down and passed on the bad news). Please come along.

Orient were hosting Charlton in the FA Cup and given their hospitality we supported them, as did the Millwall fans who came along. We  sang the “Oh Ori Ori Ori Ori Ori Ori Orient” chant to the tune of Lewie Chatterley, which went down well with them. They were particularly impressed that they had been chosen ahead of West Ham against Charlton and it was diplomatically not mentioned that we would have gone there had we known it was definitely on. Orient won and deservedly so after the way they had put themselves out for us. The Charlton fans were a bit miffed about our vociferous support for the home team. I wasn’t to know at that time that I would become quite fond of their club and develop a lot of respect for the way that got their club back to the Valley in later years.

In those days, a fixture could be rearranged in days and I didn’t have the funds for the Tuesday night game at the Den so listened to it at my neighbour Steve’s twenty first birthday bash. We were one nil down at half time and won six one eventually.  My job at the do was to relay the scores as Steve was an ardent Town fan as well. Not a problem as it was a good excuse to celebrate with another bottle of Gaymer’s Olde English Cyder, which was my favourite at the time. I can almost taste it now.

Next up was the home league game against Orient who were the guests of our supporters club. They won 2-1 on a freezing day when the Pontoon was bouncing up and down just to keep warm. I have a feeling we replaced Orient at the bottom of the table after this. I did join in the chant of “Grimsby score in the land of make believe” to the Bucks Fizz tune. My, how I enjoyed Cheryl Baker in that video. Hang on; I’ll just get those tablets.

Anyway, back to the football and whilst we were becoming adrift of safety, we had stacks of games in hand so there was at least a glimmer of hope. This result saw George Kerr sacked, which came as a big shock to me with rumours of board interference in team selection.  Dave Booth took over and did a great job but I felt that Kerr had been treated badly.

The next game was the fourth round of the FA Cup which I covered in another article. Joe, bless him, drove a gang of us up for a weekend in Newcastle after they had beaten Colchester in a replay at Layer Road. It would have been nice to have a Town game within a fifteen minute walk, but after last season, I was more than fired up for a weekend in Geordie land.

Two weeks after that we played on the Astroturf at Loftus Road, losing 1-0 to QPR, who were also our opponents there the following Saturday in the FA Cup fifth round. I bumped into the London based lads again and we were quite hopeful of a good result the next week. However, we were well beaten 3-1 amidst serious crowd trouble, which led to our fans’ behaviour being featured in the national press and Granville Tours refusing to carry our fans anymore after one of their coaches was set on fire by the fans it was carrying.

My lecturer in the subject I was really struggling with as a student was a QPR fan and wasn’t impressed with our antics. Perhaps that’s why I failed? No, actually he was a decent bloke, who had been shocked that, even in this rather violent era, fans could behave quite as badly. However, at the time, I have to admit to being secretly pleased by our notoriety, after pointing out a major article in the Guardian on the following Monday, which detailed how Town’s fans had played a major role in a ruck between Liverpool and Chelsea at Euston, as well as all the other atrocities.

I had to decide whether to carry on as a student now. The reality was that there would be no job for a university drop out, but I was absolutely broke and struggling with the course I was on to boot. Despite the atrocities, I only missed classes on one Monday each term and got my weekly assignments done in plenty of time. I had come to rely on drinking in the house rather than doing the pubs, so I continued the Sainsbury’s vodka tradition and learned that Merrydown cider mixed with Carlsberg Special Brew did the trick nicely.

One of my friends in AA said that he thought he had discovered the meaning of life when he first made this concoction. For the first time as well, I was becoming obsessed with being short of money and the stress related with that made me want to drink, which made me short of money and...you get the picture. Despite the poor season that Town were having, it seemed to be the only release I had. It wasn’t until some time later that I learned my folks had picked up the signals and were alarmed that I was on the brink of jacking it all in.

I scraped together the money to go home the following weekend and got a lift to Hillsborough. (Strange how I managed to go home on the weekend of a big game). It was a game of two penalties, as Wendy took the lead with an atrocious penalty award only for us to get an even more dubious one in the fourth minute of extra time in the first half (at a time when extra time wasn’t played as it is today). I think it is one of the few times that a referee finally got the message after constant barracking and evened things up.

My first trip to the Abbey Stadium (in the loosest possible definition) came the next weekend and I persuaded Wojc, a keen Swindon Town fan to come along. It turned into a three town pub crawl in Colchester, Ipswich and Cambridge itself. My long standing pal, Don, disowned us when I saw him in Cambridge, waving as I was from the gutter. I can’t say that I blame him and his wife-to-be often used to remind me of that one and how he couldn’t believe anyone could be so drunk let alone at lunchtime.

The incredible thing was that most of the Town fans seemed to be plastered as well. We went 2-0 up with a goal from Micky Brolly setting off the “Oh Micky you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Micky, hey Micky Brolly”. Then euphoria had us giving “Staying up” for a good time. My personal favourite chant from this time and one we sing in the car to this day, was to the Bow Wow Wow hit and went “Wild go wild go wild in the Pontoon, where kicks in the head are absolutely free” I never said I was well! When I hear us copying crap Pompey songs these days, I want to cry.

Alas, reality set in on one of our bogey grounds and we had to settle for a two all draw and a catastrophic hangover. We then met Ged in Colchester to continue the booze up, wipe out my remaining finances and set me up for my first alcoholic bout of the shakes the next day. I think a day after this, a friend came round with some home made wine and we demolished about three bottles each in a mind numbing session. I think it was the glass of red that gave me the hangover.

To say it wasn’t quite ready for human consumption would be an understatement and with one bottle, we were pouring the stuff through a tea strainer to catch all the bits. In later years, I read all the James Herriot books and I love the story where he has gone out on a call and had an impromptu session with a home made wine enthusiast. He described the next day as walking around feeling his eyeballs were going to spring out every time he put his foot down when walking. It is the perfect description of the after effects.

I was back for a few days and saw us lose 2-0 to Watford, who were running away with promotion along with Luton. Local boy Graham Taylor was manager and wrote quite a touching piece about how Town needed to show heart to get out of what was looking like relegation. It seemed to work as we won our next game at home to Derby, our first home win in six months. I tempted fate by taunting the Derby football special and only just ducking the bottle thrown at me. Unfortunately I had a drink spiked that night on a rare night of moderation, ending up in hospital with barbiturate poisoning. Another life used up and not in the form I hoped to be the next morning to gloat at the previous day’s result.

It was the Easter break next and we had a home game in the Group Cup final against Wimbledon who brought a few dozen fans up for the auspicious occasion. We had beaten Newport and Shrewsbury in the quarter and semi finals and this was now the showpiece final with the venue decided by a toss of coin. I was missing the large crowds of the previous season but hoped that we might have a good turn out. Just over 3,000 fans turned up but we won 3-2 after chucking a 2-0 lead at one point. If the Town players were less than delirious, it is still a piece of silverware listed as one of our honours. The competition was eventually rebranded the Freight Rover Trophy, got a Wembley final and morphed into the Auto Windscreens. Little did we know then...

A few days later, we entertained Barnsley who were making a concerted push for Division 1. They were well backed in a crowd of over 12,000, but the Town fans were well up for this one. I was fairly sober, as it had been Sunday opening hours for this Good Friday game, which runs the Third Division Championship game close as a favourite of mine because of the atmosphere.

We were two down at half time and staring into the abyss but never lost faith. We roared the team into a 55^th minute (or so) goal back though Trevor Whymark, who was scoring the really important ones for us. When Kevin Moore equalised with about twenty minutes to go, the place went absolutely mental. It isn’t a PC expression but I can’t think of a better word. We were still bouncing up and down when Joe Waters scored and that was the winner. It is the best fightback I have ever seen from a Town side. The Evening Telegraph ran out of superlatives to describe the reaction of the Town fans but I think it mentioned Main Standers dancing on seats.

At this time, the J Geils band were in the charts with “Centrefold” and in a craze only associated with Grimsby fans, the crowd would pogo wildly when we scored and after a quick breather, the fans would start singing “ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na” whilst repeating the bouncing. It was, and must have looked, absolutely superb.

For the obsessive compulsives among you, I checked I had the right number of nas in there. Why did I tell you that? If you are an obsessive compulsive like me, you’ll check it anyway. I did again. Just to be sure. Hang on; yep, they are all there. I’ll have another look though when I’ve finished writing this. I did think about putting in the “two, three, four” with a repeat chorus but that would only lead me to more obsessive checking, so I decided not to.

We had a game against another South Yorkshire promotion contender, Rotherham away, and afraid of missing out, I had gone as far as booking my ticket on the football special a few days before the Barnsley game. I was disappointed to see that I had something like the 24^th ticket sold and I pathetically asked at Town station a few days later whether we had sold any more. We hadn’t. However, as I turned up at Town station on Saturday lunchtime, it was clear the train would be packed.

This was my first experience of seeing how much I could shovel down from opening time to noon when the train picked up. Taking my lead from older fans, I had about 5 pints of Dry Blackthorn in the White Hart. These trains were normally riotous having been packed out from Cleethorpes and today was no exception so Don, Joe and I got ourselves some space, eagerly anticipating the day ahead.

I think one of the reasons why I am enjoying recounting this so much is that every game was a new ground and I still get a buzz today going somewhere different. We were escorted to the ground where a bar was provided for away fans, although you had to be a strong swimmer to negotiate the toilets. It was a good raucous following of two or three thousand Town fans on the away terrace. We went one nil down and equalised through Trevor Whymark, only for Rotherham to go ahead before Tony Ford pulled us level again. It finished two apiece and was a very good point. The bonus was that we also screwed the promotion ambitions of two Yorkie teams as well.

Despite our situation being parlous, we were starting to knock some goals in and the following week would continue this trend. Chelsea were the visitors and struggling as well. They were regularly pulling crowds of less than 10,000 and, for a few games, just over 6,000. This would be hard to imagine for younger fans.

Argentina had just kicked things off in the South Atlantic so there was a jingoistic mood to the crowd. No prizes for guessing what the chorus to “What shall we do with the Argentineans?” was to the tune of the Drunken Sailor. One nameless friend of mine who worked for the Foreign Office at the time had a t-shirt with a Union Jack on it in the shape of a mushroom cloud and the logo “Made in Britain, tested in Argentina”. Honestly!

Joking apart, I was still 19 years old and, coming from a maritime town and family, found the sight of British ships going down very distressing. Whatever the reasons why the Falklands War was fought, I wanted us to win. It is easy to forget that whilst lefties like me were slagging off Thatcher (and still do to this day) and opining it was a stunt to get her re-elected, Argentina had a despotic regime, murdering thousands of its civilians. It was the right thing to do as far as I was concerned. P**s poor justification for singing nasty songs about them though and laughing at that t-shirt.

Apart from missile throwing from the Town fans, it was a memorable game for comebacks from our team, although I would have loved to have put Chelsea further in trouble. It was a missed opportunity in that respect. After this flurry of games caused by the winter postponements, it was back to Uni so I missed a storming win, not for the first time as my long suffering mates know, because I whinge when I do. 5-1 against Shrewsbury and then a 1-0 win at Newcastle, the only time I haven’t seen us win there in my lifetime. That is some boast.

On the day of the latter game, I was watching Darlington play at Colchester and we had to beg to be let out 25 minutes early as it was that dire. I never thought for a moment that we would ever play at Fourth Division level again. We rushed home for the final scores and I had a feeling we were going to do the Geordies again.

The last game I saw that season was Norwich away. We were in a bit of a quandary here. Don had come over from Hatfield Poly that day to stay over in Colchester for the night. Whilst it was a doddle to get to Norwich from Colchester on the train, it was impossible to get back again after the game. I told Don that we should be okay for a lift back as I knew some lads who would also be coming up from London who I was sure would give us a lift back. Failing that we would try and hitch on a lorry to Ipswich and walk the last 18 miles if we had to. That is dedication for you. Or stupidity, take your pick.

Kick off came and went and there was no sign of Rob Moss. Had I known what Rob’s time keeping was like then, I wouldn’t have worried and sure enough, 15 minutes after kick off, Rob, Big Jim and Jane turned up having crawled up in the mini. We were sure of a lift back, although the car battery was a bit flat and it would be a bit of a squeeze. It would be the first of many favours that Rob has done for me over the years and we have had many memorable journeys as the London Mariners since then.

We lost 2-1 to a Norwich side that lost 15 or so games and still got automatic promotion, going from lower mid table to third spot in a few weeks. The biggest thing I took from the game was looking at a Town fan wearing a Hainton Inn sweatshirt spending the entire game curled over a crush barrier, absolutely paralytic. I won’t embarrass him by identifying him as I ended up spending a game at Stoke in the same condition about twelve years later.

Rob’s car just about got us to the edge of Colchester and he did offer to drop us off in town, but it is quite hilly. I felt a bit guilty about the extra strain we had exerted on their put upon motor and didn’t think it would make it back out so declined the offer. As he drove off, the heavens opened and our clothes were still drying out a week later. As usual, the rain stopped as soon as we got in. I nearly reacquainted myself with the bottom of some roadworks as the rain was so heavy that we could barely see where we were going.

After a 2-0 loss at Shrewsbury we still needed three points or so to secure our status. We had a better win ratio than other teams and the three points for a win that had been introduced this season suited us better than the old system. We had Leicester away, who were chasing promotion, and Cardiff at home who we hadn’t beaten since going up.

We played Leicester on a Tuesday night and won 2-1 with Trevor Whymark getting both. We had gone 2-0 up and let in a late goal whilst waiting for the whistle to blow. However, after gluing myself to Radio 2 all evening, we had just about done it. Cue a mega boogie in the house and in the middle of Wimpole Road in Colchester. I was aware of how we could have thrown the game because the referee for that night was Keith Hackett and he mentioned it in his column for Shoot magazine a few weeks later. I rapidly did a few calculations and worked out we had to lose thirteen nil at home to Cardiff on the last day. In the event it was one nil and I spent a happy stress free Saturday afternoon getting p***** in the back garden. And very sunburnt.

What a great season. Town never lacked spirit, we scored more goals than in the previous season and games such as Barnsley at home and Newcastle away in the FA Cup stand out, along with winning the Group Cup. Some of the best terrace chants and boogies came out this season and I’d also done a respectable eleven or so away games. I even realised I was going to get through the academic year, quite easily as it turned out, whilst failing one subject by about 1%.

Unlike now, I was looking forward to the World Cup after England had managed to scrape through qualification. This was the campaign where we lost to Romania, Norway and Switzerland. By winning in Budapest against the group favourites, Hungary, we got to the point where we only needed to draw against them in the last game to qualify. We actually beat them with all of the lads in the house having a boogie and a pile up in the living room with velvet wallpaper and dimmer light switches. I’m glad I got that detail in. It was a great house.

It was now back to Grimsby for the summer and a temporary job which, much to my relief, would see me through the last year at Uni financially. Town had safely negotiated their season and I’d done a similar thing academically. Surely things could only get better?