“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley” as Rabbie Burns puts it. “Bugger!” is my more succinct interpretation.
Polly’s plot to get a day of test match cricket at Old Trafford has gone down the tube. Me and Mrs P rose early and packed drinks and sandwiches, slapped on the P20 and were off in the car before 8.30 for what would normally be a 30 minutes whizz round the M60.
Trouble started where the M60 joins the M56 with traffic backing up. This might have been because of the roadworks about a mile further on, so we came off at the Manchester turn-off planning to make our way to the ground via Chorlton. No go. The traffic was solid.
The nine o’clock news said that people were queuing round the ground and that if you weren’t already there then there wasn’t much chance of getting in. Apparently people have been camping overnight for the 19,000 £10 tickets, so we turned round and came back home.
We have toyed with the idea of recreating Old Trafford in the back garden by taking a telly outside and turning the volume up really loud. Next, a trip to the supermarket to buy some hotdogs and insisting that we pay £5 for them, but we couldn’t think where we might get some uncomfortable plastic seats to watch from.
So the telly it is then. At least the beer is cheaper.