Advice for Travelling to Bolton game alone from NI

[RickyVilla]

Ah dont know what to be at. I'm metting a guy at WHL who is taking me into the ground for the match day experience. I presumre if he leaves, I'll have to leave, so time depending on him.

Not sure whether to head into liverpool street, hotel in that area, and take myself out for a few hours. Or play it safe, stay around WHL as long as possible, take train to a hotel at Stansted, few beers in hotel bar and at least I am there for flight home in morning. Though as a married man and father I dont get out much, so should take full advantage of being off the leash in London.

I also have one very kind offer from a member of SC to stay in their student accommodation, which I am investigating further. A very kind offer indeed.

Tasha is a little minx isn't she!

 

[Lilbaz]

An hour in there feels so wrong but in other ways so right

Used to finish the nightshift and take the South Africans to Faringdon. Drink there till 11:00 then go to the flying Scotsman. Pole dancing at 11:00 for about 20p a dance. You can't beat it. Some of the girls were hot too.

 

[TheChosenOne]

Tasha is a little minx isn't she!

I was thinking Mrs Keane actually.

 

[RJ1882]

What is wrong with you...how can you deprive yourself of the immensse pleasure and life-fulfilling experience of the boat-train :shrug:

The boat train? :shrug:

Kezza a minx? :shrug:

Keanes Bird? :shrug:

What are you people on about? Is Kezza aware her apparent minxness?

 

[StartingPrice]

The boat train? :shrug:

Kezza a minx? :shrug:

Keanes Bird? :shrug:

What are you people on about? Is Kezza aware her apparent minxness?

Can't speak for Kezza and her alleged minxyness, but the boat-train I'm referring to is taking the ferry (in this case, to Stranraer) and linking with the train (in this case to Lahndahn) - used to be a lovely/horrible little journey, taking most of your life and much vomit. I tend to forget, you younglings, you just jump on planes and fly everywhere.

 

[RJ1882]

Can't speak for Kezza and her alleged minxyness, but the boat-train I'm referring to is taking the ferry (in this case, to Stranraer) and linking with the train (in this case to Lahndahn) - used to be a lovely/horrible little journey, taking most of your life and much vomit. I tend to forget, you younglings, you just jump on planes and fly everywhere.

Stranraer to London? Jesus, that must've taken a week.
As a kid, 13 or 14, I travelled Larne to Stranraer with my Dad, uncle sister and cousin for a Liverpool - Spurs game at Anfield in February 1995 (for some reason I think it was Andy Sintons Debut. Game finished 0-0.
On our way back to Stranraer from Liverpool we got caught up in the heaviest snow storm I've ever seen. In no timne at all roads were impassable, cars abondoned and we ended up having to spend 2, maybe 3 nights sleeping on the floor of a church hall in Dunfries. While all we done was sit in the bar playing pool and eating pizza for a few days, the trauma of it all means that I will never, even in sunny July, make that journey again.

If anything Dublin - Holyhead would be first choice.

 

[NP4_Yid]

Used to finish the nightshift and take the South Africans to Faringdon. Drink there till 11:00 then go to the flying Scotsman. Pole dancing at 11:00 for about 20p a dance. You can't beat it.

For a while it was quite a popular feature of match days! :razz:
Last time I was in there though it was full of Chelsea in Stone Island gear being...well...as you'd expect them to be really :roll:

 

[RickyVilla]

For a while it was quite a popular feature of match days! :razz:
Last time I was in there though it was full of Chelsea in Stone Island gear being...well...as you'd expect them to be really :roll:

Shouting racist abuse at the Brazilian strippers?

 

[StartingPrice]

Stranraer to London? Jesus, that must've taken a week.
As a kid, 13 or 14, I travelled Larne to Stranraer with my Dad, uncle sister and cousin for a Liverpool - Spurs game at Anfield in February 1995 (for some reason I think it was Andy Sintons Debut. Game finished 0-0.
On our way back to Stranraer from Liverpool we got caught up in the heaviest snow storm I've ever seen. In no timne at all roads were impassable, cars abondoned and we ended up having to spend 2, maybe 3 nights sleeping on the floor of a church hall in Dunfries. While all we done was sit in the bar playing pool and eating pizza for a few days, the trauma of it all means that I will never, even in sunny July, make that journey again.

If anything Dublin - Holyhead would be first choice.

Felt like it...especially as a nipper, watching one Scots hamlet merging into another in the darkness (two streetlights and a dog each) mg:

 

[TheChosenOne]

I have told this story about three times before on here but before my alzheimer's kicks in I will lay down the tale of Dundalk vs Spurs in November 1981, a mere thirty years ago.

The plan: Leave Kings X by coach to Holyhead then to Dun Laoghaire. Spend the day in Dublin and mosey on up to Dundalk for the match, coming straight back after the game and doing the journey in reverse with the bonus of bringing back duty free fags and booze plus perfume for the wives and gfs.

The trip: Departed Kings Cross ok. Stopped at a pub somewhere in Northampton as we were well ahead of schedule apparently. Upon leaving this pub we noticed that 2 lads were missing, gone awol. So eventually we had to leave without them - the lucky bastards ! Driving up to Wales and to Holyhead in rainstorms and wind on shitty road we arrived at Holyhead to see the ferry leaving the harbour. Damn.

Quick conflab : We could shoot up to Stranraer and get the ferry over to Larne, workable, bearing in mind those were the days before satnav, mobiles and other techno stuff in use today. Off we went from Holyhead to Stranraer, I'd never set foot in Scotland or N.I. in my life and I thought this could be a great adventure.

Somewhere in Lancs, near Blackpool the coach died. Now stranded but hope was on the horizon, we were able to persuade a local coach firm to take over the journey for us suffering Spurs fans. The driver was a different story. He didn't really fancy taking us or himself to NI which was then at the height of the troubles. But he did take us. phew.

Our coach was to be repaired in our short absence and exchanged on the way back.

Off we jolly well went, full of hope and faith in doing the right thing and the only downer was that by going from Stranraer - Larne meant we would't be able to get the duty free as we were not going "abroad" as such. The morning sun was glinting on the waves as we travelled up the east coast of Scotland seeing all the lasces you had heard of and never seen like Annan, Dumfries and many more that I can for the life of me remember.

The sun was also glimmering on the ferry as we saw it leaving the harbour as we cruied down the dock road. Au revoir to that one - again.

Now what could we do .. Brainwave - Go home or get the next ferry over to Larne, it was a freight ferry only, but as a coach they said they could take us. Unfortunately no facilities existed on board apart from a tiny snack bar -- and no alcohol as it was for yorkiemen only.

It was dark when we arrived in Larne and we we hoping to dash down to the RoI border and into Dundalk for the match come what may. Pretty impressive so far we had managed to be in England,Wales, Scotland & Northern Ireland all within 24 hours and only had to travel a little bit to take the triple crown or whatever it was called for being in all the parts that only we could reach.

Going through Belfast some of the lads were a bit wary, I was even more wary when I looked over my shoulder and saw that some wags had draped the Union Jack over the back window as was/is the habit. I bricked it and quietly (nnot really) told them to get it down immediately. Phew.

The British army were aware of our passage through the province, when we got to the border we were sent through pretty quickly - but slowly enough to see th squaddies hiding behind advertising hoardings with rifles at the ready.

Now in the Republic we were at last on course to get to Dundalk, not for the game, more like half time if we were lucky.

We were lucky - half time it was, yippe, hundreds of breeze blocks on the terracing for folk to stand on and hundreds of Guards. the Irish police - pretty impressive all must have weighed about 18st and 6'6 tall. No fucking about with them I thought. Fortunately everyone else thought the same.

The match. Boring.

Postmatch. Shepherded out by the cops, allowed to stop at a bar/disco on the edge of town that even the village idiots didn't go to. A quick couple of pints and then off we go back up to Belfast and Larne then a nice pleasant cruise home without too much incident, even though we had to go via Blackpool to get our old charabanc back.Saw loads of sheep in Cumbria, nice.

I sit here now 30 years on, the game is lost in the mists of time, the trauma of that expedition still lurks in a back room of my memory somewhere surfacing now and again.

Moral. Get a plane. Simples.

 

[RJ1882]

I have told this story about three times before on here but before my alzheimer's kicks in I will lay down the tale of Dundalk vs Spurs in November 1981, a mere thirty years ago.

The plan: Leave Kings X by coach to Holyhead then to Dun Laoghaire. Spend the day in Dublin and mosey on up to Dundalk for the match, coming straight back after the game and doing the journey in reverse with the bonus of bringing back duty free fags and booze plus perfume for the wives and gfs.

The trip: Departed Kings Cross ok. Stopped at a pub somewhere in Northampton as we were well ahead of schedule apparently. Upon leaving this pub we noticed that 2 lads were missing, gone awol. So eventually we had to leave without them - the lucky bastards ! Driving up to Wales and to Holyhead in rainstorms and wind on shitty road we arrived at Holyhead to see the ferry leaving the harbour. Damn.

Quick conflab : We could shoot up to Stranraer and get the ferry over to Larne, workable, bearing in mind those were the days before satnav, mobiles and other techno stuff in use today. Off we went from Holyhead to Stranraer, I'd never set foot in Scotland or N.I. in my life and I thought this could be a great adventure.

Somewhere in Lancs, near Blackpool the coach died. Now stranded but hope was on the horizon, we were able to persuade a local coach firm to take over the journey for us suffering Spurs fans. The driver was a different story. He didn't really fancy taking us or himself to NI which was then at the height of the troubles. But he did take us. phew.

Our coach was to be repaired in our short absence and exchanged on the way back.

Off we jolly well went, full of hope and faith in doing the right thing and the only downer was that by going from Stranraer - Larne meant we would't be able to get the duty free as we were not going "abroad" as such. The morning sun was glinting on the waves as we travelled up the east coast of Scotland seeing all the lasces you had heard of and never seen like Annan, Dumfries and many more that I can for the life of me remember.

The sun was also glimmering on the ferry as we saw it leaving the harbour as we cruied down the dock road. Au revoir to that one - again.

Now what could we do .. Brainwave - Go home or get the next ferry over to Larne, it was a freight ferry only, but as a coach they said they could take us. Unfortunately no facilities existed on board apart from a tiny snack bar -- and no alcohol as it was for yorkiemen only.

It was dark when we arrived in Larne and we we hoping to dash down to the RoI border and into Dundalk for the match come what may. Pretty impressive so far we had managed to be in England,Wales, Scotland & Northern Ireland all within 24 hours and only had to travel a little bit to take the triple crown or whatever it was called for being in all the parts that only we could reach.

Going through Belfast some of the lads were a bit wary, I was even more wary when I looked over my shoulder and saw that some wags had draped the Union Jack over the back window as was/is the habit. I bricked it and quietly (nnot really) told them to get it down immediately. Phew.

The British army were aware of our passage through the province, when we got to the border we were sent through pretty quickly - but slowly enough to see th squaddies hiding behind advertising hoardings with rifles at the ready.

Now in the Republic we were at last on course to get to Dundalk, not for the game, more like half time if we were lucky.

We were lucky - half time it was, yippe, hundreds of breeze blocks on the terracing for folk to stand on and hundreds of Guards. the Irish police - pretty impressive all must have weighed about 18st and 6'6 tall. No fucking about with them I thought. Fortunately everyone else thought the same.

The match. Boring.

Postmatch. Shepherded out by the cops, allowed to stop at a bar/disco on the edge of town that even the village idiots didn't go to. A quick couple of pints and then off we go back up to Belfast and Larne then a nice pleasant cruise home without too much incident, even though we had to go via Blackpool to get our old charabanc back.Saw loads of sheep in Cumbria, nice.

I sit here now 30 years on, the game is lost in the mists of time, the trauma of that expedition still lurks in a back room of my memory somewhere surfacing now and again.

Moral. Get a plane. Simples.

I grew up amongst it all, blissfully unaware that this what not normal. Not normal to see the army parading through the town, not normal to see a soldier hiding in the bushes and approach him asking if we could hold his rifle, which they usually gratefully obliged, instructing you how to peer through the scope and aim.

I'm sure it all sounded alot worse to those livingoutside of N Ireland than it was to us living in it. Or maybe I am too young to have realised the situation I was growing up in. The Heights Bar, scene of a massacre on the night Ireland beat Italy 1-0 in USA 94, is just a few short miles from home.

Anyway. I agree - plane all the way. Although I did do a 24 day trip to Old Traford a few years to see us draw 1-1 with Utd, Jenas scoring a freekick after Giggs had capitalised on a Robinson blunder.

 

[RickyVilla]

And what a freekick it was. Probably his finest moment in a Spurs shirt.

 

[Hot-Spur]

I have told this story about three times before on here but before my alzheimer's kicks in I will lay down the tale of Dundalk vs Spurs in November 1981, a mere thirty years ago.

The plan: Leave Kings X by coach to Holyhead then to Dun Laoghaire. Spend the day in Dublin and mosey on up to Dundalk for the match, coming straight back after the game and doing the journey in reverse with the bonus of bringing back duty free fags and booze plus perfume for the wives and gfs.

The trip: Departed Kings Cross ok. Stopped at a pub somewhere in Northampton as we were well ahead of schedule apparently. Upon leaving this pub we noticed that 2 lads were missing, gone awol. So eventually we had to leave without them - the lucky bastards ! Driving up to Wales and to Holyhead in rainstorms and wind on shitty road we arrived at Holyhead to see the ferry leaving the harbour. Damn.

Quick conflab : We could shoot up to Stranraer and get the ferry over to Larne, workable, bearing in mind those were the days before satnav, mobiles and other techno stuff in use today. Off we went from Holyhead to Stranraer, I'd never set foot in Scotland or N.I. in my life and I thought this could be a great adventure.

Somewhere in Lancs, near Blackpool the coach died. Now stranded but hope was on the horizon, we were able to persuade a local coach firm to take over the journey for us suffering Spurs fans. The driver was a different story. He didn't really fancy taking us or himself to NI which was then at the height of the troubles. But he did take us. phew.

Our coach was to be repaired in our short absence and exchanged on the way back.

Off we jolly well went, full of hope and faith in doing the right thing and the only downer was that by going from Stranraer - Larne meant we would't be able to get the duty free as we were not going "abroad" as such. The morning sun was glinting on the waves as we travelled up the east coast of Scotland seeing all the lasces you had heard of and never seen like Annan, Dumfries and many more that I can for the life of me remember.

The sun was also glimmering on the ferry as we saw it leaving the harbour as we cruied down the dock road. Au revoir to that one - again.

Now what could we do .. Brainwave - Go home or get the next ferry over to Larne, it was a freight ferry only, but as a coach they said they could take us. Unfortunately no facilities existed on board apart from a tiny snack bar -- and no alcohol as it was for yorkiemen only.

It was dark when we arrived in Larne and we we hoping to dash down to the RoI border and into Dundalk for the match come what may. Pretty impressive so far we had managed to be in England,Wales, Scotland & Northern Ireland all within 24 hours and only had to travel a little bit to take the triple crown or whatever it was called for being in all the parts that only we could reach.

Going through Belfast some of the lads were a bit wary, I was even more wary when I looked over my shoulder and saw that some wags had draped the Union Jack over the back window as was/is the habit. I bricked it and quietly (nnot really) told them to get it down immediately. Phew.

The British army were aware of our passage through the province, when we got to the border we were sent through pretty quickly - but slowly enough to see th squaddies hiding behind advertising hoardings with rifles at the ready.

Now in the Republic we were at last on course to get to Dundalk, not for the game, more like half time if we were lucky.

We were lucky - half time it was, yippe, hundreds of breeze blocks on the terracing for folk to stand on and hundreds of Guards. the Irish police - pretty impressive all must have weighed about 18st and 6'6 tall. No fucking about with them I thought. Fortunately everyone else thought the same.

The match. Boring.

Postmatch. Shepherded out by the cops, allowed to stop at a bar/disco on the edge of town that even the village idiots didn't go to. A quick couple of pints and then off we go back up to Belfast and Larne then a nice pleasant cruise home without too much incident, even though we had to go via Blackpool to get our old charabanc back.Saw loads of sheep in Cumbria, nice.

I sit here now 30 years on, the game is lost in the mists of time, the trauma of that expedition still lurks in a back room of my memory somewhere surfacing now and again.

Moral. Get a plane. Simples.

Great read, thanks for sharing.

 

[Dundalk_Spur]

Thanks TCO.

I was only a babe in arms at that game, and the only memory I have is Crooks scoring and my grandfather presenting, Ritchie Blackmore (I think) some award.

On Ritchie Blackmore, I watched the 1987 FA Cup final in his shop with him and Bryan the guy that worked there, who was the living image of Emlyn Hughes, good times.