Into the Light, Nearly

25 May 2022

Dan had a bit of study to do in the morning, so Harry and I went for a wander around Glesca. Being an incompetent packer, I had left myself three T-shirts short so I needed to find a Primark and buy a few £2 T-shirts. That was easy enough. On the way back we passed a Sports Direct and went in for a look around. At the entry a whole swathe of Rangers shirts and jackets confronted us with no sign of any Celtic gear to balance them. What was this: sectarian bias? I was actually looking for a retro Scotland top and we needed to go to the fourth floor to find it. Near the Scotland tops some Celtic shirts were hiding, segregated far away from the Rangers goods no doubt. Depressingly, the store contained more Liverpool gear than was necessary, at least in my mind. 

I bought myself a nice 90s Scotland top and we went to find some breakfast. I must admit to having a bit of a bee in my bonnet about this Sports Direct business. It’s not really a sports store. It’s a clothing store; perhaps even a fashion Store. This observation was to become even more pointed when we got to Sunderland later in the day.

Harry and I bought bacon sandwiches for breakfast and we found a yoghurt and muesli for Dan, having given up trying to fill his request for a fruit salad. At least the long black coffee shop was open.

A Cumbria landscape

We packed and got into the Merc at about 10 o’clock and set the controls for the Stadium of Light (SoL) via Carlisle. It is truly beautiful countryside. Travelling across Cumbria towards Sunderland was like moving through a mix of a Constable painting and a set for the TV show, Vera. As I was moving closer to my birthplace the emotions were kicking in, not intensely but enough to make me quietly thoughtful. Eventually we came to Sunderland and the SoL came into view. Our plan was to go to the club shop and buy a few items, most notably that Bailey Wright shirt Harry had been seeking. But we also had a bit of cash to splash on memorabilia for ourselves and people in Australia.

SoL's deserted carpark

We parked in a strangely deserted car park. A bit of activity was occurring in relation to setting up for some concerts that were to happen over the next couple of weeks. Ed Sheeran [is a w*****?] and someone else. Unfortunately and disappointingly the shop was closed, until June 10! Moreover, there was no chance of a stadium tour. Bitterly disappointing. We’d come all this way, had a great victory at Wembley only four days before, and probably naïvely expected a hive of activity at the club capitalising economically on the joy of victory and promotion. But no. All we could do was circumnavigate the ground and take a load of pictures, go back to the car and find a bloody Sports Direct. In the end we couldn’t get parked in Sunderland city centre so we gave up and headed down to Easington where we were going to be staying in my cousin Mark’s house.  As it turns out, there would have been no point going to Sports Direct in Sunderland because they don’t sell Sunderland tops. SERIOUSLY. No doubt they have hundreds of Liverpool tops and dozens of mag rags.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t expect rose petals to be strewn in our path or anything like that - though it would have been nice had the security guard inside the office not deliberately avoided eye contact and pretended we weren't there. But why does the club make it so hard to purchase replica tops and other memorabilia? I’ve heard tell that they won’t even post material to Australia. So we’ll have to test the truth of that report in due course.

From Mark's house in Easington, looking south east to Hartlepool

The ten mile trip to Easington took no time and soon enough we were reunited with Mark and his boys, Liam and Ben. Dan and Harry got to meet my Uncle Harry and Auntie Eileen, who prepared for us the first home cooked meal we’d had in a week. It was marvellous. We relaxed, chatted and reminisced over a few beers and wines and went to bed early.

I was back in the county of my birth. Tomorrow we would visit my birthplace and my grandparents’ grave, as well as my dad’s cousin Robert and his beautiful champion racing pigeons.

Looking back over this post, I detect a different tone. More serious, less playful, spotted with complaints and with somewhat less positivity than previous posts.

Maybe that’s what overthinking does. I'll snap out of it.