Enough's Enough

Another eminently satisfying trip to the Prince of Wales draws to a close as Class 142 unit, 142 054, bound for Preston approaches Foxfield station in South Cumbria.

My recollections of what actually happened on this journey are, well, to say the least, unclear. Anyhow, my local football team, Bury, were, by coincidence, playing a pre-season friendly at Barrow and the faithful followers of the mighty Shakers staggered their way onto the train. They were drunk as I don't know what (yes, I know, the pot calling the kettle...) and they were some of the most pig ignorant, boorish scum it's been my misfortune to come across for a long time. Whatever was said or done, I don't recall, though I don't think any of it actually involved me. Suffice to say, by the time the train arrived at Lancaster, I'd had enough and bailed out. Even one of Mr Branson's Virmin Pandemonium units had to be better than putting up with that all the way back to Bolton.

I dare say this human trash is not representative of the majority of Bury FC supporters or football supporters in general. Nevertheless, it's all rather helped reinforce my rather jaundiced view of modern football and I'm afraid that after some forty years of following the game, you can shove it. I have renounced football once and for all.