One NIL to the mighty reds!

So, we had a great day out yesterday. Oh yes. Took my newly season ticket-holding mother to Old Trafford for the first time. What a day to go! OK, we won there three seasons ago, in December 1998, but the previous time was in 1930. Best of all we did so deservedly. As was noted in the Observer which makes a very welcome change.

Theatre of what?

I've been to Old Trafford several times before but yesterday was the first time I've sat in the corner they now graciously allocate to away fans and I was, frankly, disgusted with the facilities. In more ways than one.

Firstly: legroom. There is no legroom in those seats. I'm only 5'9" and upon arrival it took me two attempts to sit down due to the way I had to arrange my legs to avoid leaving my kneecaps on the seats in front. Looking around confirmed that most people seemed to have similar problem unless they were shorter than average.

Secondly: the jacks. My mother reported that the ladies' was okay. The gents' however was pretty poor. One long trough which appeared to be suffering some sort of unalleviated blockage as by half time it was three quarters full and close to the top by the end of the match. Lovely.

Thirdly: the smell. I didn't notice it at first when arriving and sitting down, but the first time people stood up after the game kicked off, I noticed a distinct foul smell coming from God knows where, but seemingly all around. Once detected this got more and more intrusive as the game progressed. By the time the second half was underway my mother was covering her face with a scarf every time we stood up. The concrete under the steps was filthier than any football ground I've ever been in. And the smell? Definitely stale piss. The smell of doorways and alleyways at night. Absolutely vile.

So I'm thinking I may need to revise my opinion of Micky Potter's oft-stated theorem that all cockneys stink of piss. Judging by Old Trafford, he's dead right. Theatre Of Dreams, my arse. Stadium Of Piss, more like.