Sunday, August 31, 2008

T minus 5

The countdown is almost at an end.... In just over an hour I will be leaving to head towards Wembley Stadium to hook up with everyone else. TFL have conspired along with Mother Nature and the incompetence of Nike to make the situation as big a mission as possible...

The tube from Brixton is off today, meaning an epic bus ride towards Baker Street followed by a tube up to Wembley - what you don't see on FA Cup Final coverage is that Wembley is actually in the arse-end of nowhere somewhere north-west of London. I'm not entirely sure it's still in London - it may possibly be jumping on the same bandwagon as London Stansted airport (45 minutes out into the Essex countryside) in claiming to be in the city when in fact stuck out somewhere near Watford. It doesn't help, of course, that I currently live in the depths of the South East London suburbs where "Sunday public transport" is an alien concept.

So, I have been preparing this morning, trying to get everything sorted. I've spent most of my time in a nicotine-deprived fug, imagining I'm in one of those montages that the BBC does as an intro to sports programmes these days. You know the sort: Eddie Butler waxing poetically over slow motion shots of rugby playes battering seven shades of shit out of each other; Andy Murray twirling his racquet on his hand as he tries to focus; horses being exercised in the chilly crisp morning near Newmarket....

So this morning, to the tune of that awful M People song "Reach for the hero inside yourself" (how did Heather Small manage to corner the market in rubbish inspirational sporting anthems?), life has been one long atmospheric clip fest. After waking up this morning, I rolled over as the 'camera' panned and the time on my alarm clock came into focus. There was a close up of a splash of milk on Ricicles and quiche going into the oven. I was captured in silhouette in my bedroom window as I spoke to Euan trying to arrange meeting up. The camera arced as a chunk of toe nail flew from my clippers and landed amongst a pile of clothes on the floor. Finally, a look of quiet contemplation as I worked through my race tactics whilst attaching my little electronic chip thing to my shoe laces.

Soon, the final scene will see me - gorged on Spaghetti Bolognese - kissing my girlfriend goodbye in my full race kit and locking the front door behind me. All that will remain is for the tv pictures to cut to live coverage with John Inverdale and a shaky helicopter image of my team coach arriving at the stadium.

The waiting is over. The preparations are complete. The weather forecast is for severe thunder storms and near total darkness.

Let's do it.

No comments:

Post a Comment