Some Exeter escapades

• Back to Home Page

Well a couple of people had a very eventful day, and that don't include the football!!!

First of all DJ Johnny has a tale to tell.

EXETER - A TRAVELLER'S ODYSSEY

I suppose we Dag Red supporters all did 2 things when we heard that SKY were going to cover the game at Exeter: celebrate, first, but this was soon followed by 'sinking- heart-feeling' when the kick off time was announced. How would we get back on Saturday night? Not a problem for most fans local to the club especially when the club generously subsidised the coach travel so that no one paid more than £8. But I like to travel independently and hoped to see more of Exeter, a place I had not seen for over 20 years en route to holiday destinations in Torbay. Plus I was travelling from North London; 20 miles away from the coach pick-ups in Dagenham. So train it would have to be. Early research suggested that this was possible, the last train leaving Exeter at 2048, change at Bristol for the 2230 to London arriving at Paddington at 0026 where my long suffering partner would meet me. Home by 1 am, not a bad prospect. After the executive coach, train hire and even plane charter ideas all had bitten the dust, all that remained was to buy the ticket. Not as simple as it sounds. 3 different fares were mysteriously given to me by Great Western Telesales, the cheapest (£24) seemingly only available if purchased a year before travel and only on 1 seat per every 17 trains. Eventually I arrived a few days before the big day at Paddington, prepared to pay £40, only to be offered a Winter Special Offer of £26!! Jumped at the chance but joined-up thinking or what?

When Saturday came it was cold but dry and sunny, at least it was in London. Near Hungerford and later, more worryingly, between Taunton and Tiverton, there was thick fog. Would the game be postponed? Would Sky employ helicopters to blow away the mist? Or Garry Hill to just blow? Exeter, however, was bathed in winter sunshine and this encouraged me, after sampling the gastronomic delights of the Lemon Tree at the station, to wander around the city. First, a visit to the beautiful Cathedral, then down to the Quays, followed by 50 minutes of the Exeter vs. Worcester Rugby Union top of the table clash at the County Ground. When I left, it was 19-3 to the rampant home side (they ended up 21-10 victors) on what looked more like muddy pasture. Worcester were poor, given their top place, and the home supporters in a good crowd (a few thousand?) were buoyant and in hearty voice. Chants of " Come on Exe" made we wonder if Exeter is twinned with Aix-en-Provence in France? If it isn't it should be, both places are so agreeable. During the Rugby I did enjoy 'phoning my partner to say, "I'm afraid Exeter are 14 nil up and it's still only the first half."

So, back across the Mallinson Bridge, up and down several hills to St James' Park. After exchanging pleasantries with the very friendly staff at the ground, I watched a competitive goalless draw in which I was not surprised by the visitors efforts, more by the lack of spirit as the game wore on from the home side when the third round is but a goal away. As turns out there's a Premiership side waiting. Still, I reckon it's 50/50 and a good match in prospect for the replay and I wandered back to the station happy.

Then the fun started. The 20:48 to Bristol was 'on time' (in fact it was a few minutes late) but seemed to lose more time en route. Never mind, we were assured the connection would wait. It didn't. 5 Dag and Red supporters plus 3 others heading for London stranded without a station member of staff in sight. No London Grecians around either - they must have known better than to trust this train 'connection'. Then 20 others appear from Wales expecting the same connection. Cue aggrieved people and prompt action from the Bristol station staff. They hire a fleet of taxis from outside the station and we pile in 4 by 4. I am with 3 interesting guys. First, a surfer from Newquay heading for my home 'town' of Leytonstone, East London, where his partner lives. Second, a Welshman who in 27 hours has flown from Mississippi to Amsterdam to Paris then Eurostar to London. Then train to Newport to see his ransacked (he discovered) house for just one hour (!) before joining the fateful train to Bristol on his return to the States. That's a definition of 'a bad day'!! The third guy turned out to be one of the SKY cameramen at the game, on his way home to Brixton. And he had to be at work the next day at Arsenal at 11 for the Villa match. He felt our cup-tie was one of the worst matches he'd seen!

So we headed down the motorway at 11 p.m., pleased to be London-bound, through Wiltshire and Berkshire fog and mist. By the time we had hit the outskirts of London, having dropped off the unhappy Celt at Heathrow Terminal 4 (he had a flight at 5 a.m.), the meter said £157.50. Thank God we weren't paying! Our friendly and obliging Bristolian taxi driver, for an extra charge, took the SKY man to near Battersea Power Station where he was going to pick up another cab and the remaining twosome to their homes (I assume our surfer made it to Leytonstone), me arriving in Stoke Newington at 1.40 am, probably not much later than expected. So thanks SKY and Wales and Borders trains for combining to create such an unexpectedly fun-filled day!

Well I think John was 'lucky'......at least he got out of Exeter....Cue Stuart

It was a bright sunny morning. I left home at ten o'clock giving myself plenty of time. Lovely journey. Arrived without a problem about 1430. Entered a pub, had a few drinks, bought a programme and sauntered off down the road to watch the mighty Daggers. First half not bad - did well to hang on. And then the nightmare began....

Went to my pocket for a light. No light. Programme was in same pocket. No programme. Car keys in same pocket - NO CAR KEYS! I tried to put the above out of my mind and watched us hang on manfully in second half. As game ended I looked around for my keys. Went to the pub I had been in. No luck. So at 19:50 I was on the phone to my wife explaining that I was stuck in Exeter on a Saturday night with no way home. After some words of unrepeatable scorn, she told me the number of my breakdown service. I rang them and they managed to put me up, eventually, in a five star hotel. That was great. I rang my wife from the phone in the room and got a twenty minute bollocking from her before crashing out. When I woke in the morning I was handed a bill for £38.90 for the phone call! Not so great.

So now we come to Sunday morning. Went back to my car and it was still there. Rang one of my mates and he agreed to pick me up from Romford station, take me back home to get my spare keys and drive me back to Exeter. Great mate! Got on train from Exeter central at 0945. Cost me another £38. Spent five hours on the train listening to two drama students talking bollocks. Finally got to Romford, met my mate, drove back to Exeter, picked my car up and we got back home at 0010 on Monday morning.

So that was my Exeter nightmare. But that's football.

Bring on the tractor boys!

Mike AKA Hardy from the new D&R website diggerdagger.com explains the preamble and aftermath + much more!

I had the wife all lined up to let me and the eldest boy head to Exeter for the Cup game, thinking a train would be ideal, almost as soon as the draw was made "after all its not on the TV and I've been to every game in the Cup run...". Then Sky went and decided to televise the game and have the exotic kick off time of 5:35pm. Bugger.

Thanks to the club's generous offer of subsidised coaches, I revised the "TV" argument and the trip was back on. So it was to the club by 10:15 for a pleasant trip to Exeter, a bag filled with food and drink for the boy and lots of music, Game Boy games and books to keep us occupied.

At 10:50 we finally left, having hung around the car park for ages waiting for a late comer. On the coach with us were Danny the drummer and Trumpet Boy Will, plus assorted loud mouthed yobs, which made for a good atmosphere (and a lot of moaning from those who probably moan about the "noise" at games), although some of the language could have been toned down given the number of kids on the trip.

Progress was reasonable, although I found my right foot pressing the floor a few times. The coaches radio seemed only capable of finding French and Belgian stations though, so instead of listening to Five Live telling us about their "team to follow" we dove into books and chatted about prospects for the evenings game.

The at about Reading came a call on the mobile from a coach ahead. An accident on the M4 at Swindon meant we would divert round via the A4. So we followed the other coaches into the countryside, and as they disappeared into the distance after trekking through Hungerford town centre, our driver decided that a little country lane on the right looked like fun. Four miles or so later, after a series of picturesque villages had been passed, it was turn the coach round (fun in a 56 seater coach on a country lane) and back to where we were.

Some time later we ended up back on the M4 and met the other coaches at the service station with time dragging on. Back off on the road, past Bristol, into the fog, the sun going down, the radio briefly finding TalkSport before going back to Belgian, my idea of a pleasant pint in an Exeter pub before the game receeding, and Trumpet Boy loosening his valves with a series of his greatest hits.

We finally pulled up at St James' Park at about 4:30 and bundled into the ground, after being frisked twice, to find that the away end there made our Pondfield Road End look like Old Trafford. The game was OK but I can imagine that the neutrals were less than excited by it, but a thoroughly professional Daggers performance meant that there were rarely any worries that we would not get a result. The one low point of the evening was some loud mouthed cretin who'se soul reason for being at the game seemed to be to scream abuse at Ken Charlery. Next time mate, stay at home!!

Back on the coach straight after the game (where a set of VW keys that had been found were offered round - sorry Stuart) before a motor cycle escort out of Exeter and back on the Motorway. At Taunton we had an unscheduled stop as it felt like the coach had blown a tyre, but after groans at the thought of waiting for someone to come out and change it, all was OK and back on the road.

The little fella fell asleep on me and I hit my book again. Still no radio, or video on the coach despite the screen at the front. Then at some time after 11pm we stopped at the (closed) services at Reading so the driver could have a break, waking up the boy in the process, who then proceeded to not go back to sleep for the rest of the trip.

Those of you with kids will know all about the "are we there yet" syndrome which I had in my right ear for the rest of the trip. Back at the club at 1am, in bed by 1:40. So a good day out, but.... £100,000 is nice for the club, but you can't beat a 3pm kick off, and in my rosy glow of bombing around in fast cars, I had forgotten that coach travel was so slow. I was thinking that next time I would take the train, but having read DJ Johnny's story, maybe not. Car maybe, with 3 sets of keys I guess.

Roll on the 19th.