Sean the Blade
Member
Curtains on Cherry Street twitched as the long black Rolls Royce glided over the pot holes. Fluorescent policeman directed traffic away from the cavalcade and motorcycle outriders guided the car into the South Stand car park.
Kevin McCabe stepped forward and opened the rear door and aided Her Majesty from the opulent limousine. Trevor Birch stepped forward and knocked on the driver’s window “It’s a fiver to park mate, and its £10.50 per person for pensioners”
“Wha, wha, we don’t carry money on visits”
“That’s okay, we take cards” said Birch producing a remote terminal from his inside pocket. The driver reluctantly handed over his debit card.
McCabe guided the royal party towards the players’ entrance “Ah, the TRADESMANS’ ENTRANCE Liz!”
“Do be quiet Philip!” chided Her Majesty “I do apologise Mr McCabe, he’s Greek you see”
Deep in the bowels of the South Stand the royal party and associated hangers on gathered around Kevin in the tiled enclave “Some of the greatest names in the game have changed in this dressing room, showered in those showers and bathed in that bath”
“But it says ‘Visitors’ on the door?” commented a royal protection officer “I know” said McCabe through gritted teeth. As they made their way out of the room into the start of the tunnel, they were greeted by an elderly bench sat against the tunnel wall “When the ground was redeveloped, and the dressing rooms were moved from the John Street to the South Stand, we rescued this bench, as you can see the initials ‘BM’ have been carved into the lats” McCabe indicated the small monogram etched into the bench “Those letters, your Majesty, ladies and gentlemen, we carved by none other than Sir Bobby Moore”
“Oh Sir Bobby, so handsome, and such a gentleman” commented the Queen “1966, bless, what a day THAT was, it cost me an absolute fortune. I’d bet Winston (Churchill) five guineas that we would win, he said the Germans didn’t stand a chance and he matched my five guineas, on England”
“But didn’t he pass away in 1965?” asked McCabe.
“Yes, he did, poor Winny, but his dear Clementine came to collect”
“And what sort of grass is this Mr McCabe”
“It is quite a mixture your Majesty, genetically speaking of course, it’s bred to be very hardwearing, as I’m sure you’re ware…” An excited yelp, scream and a trickle of giggles interrupted Kevin, every pair of eyes turned and focussed on the heap of Bladettes rolling on the floor with the Duke of Edinburgh. The silence brought the melee to a close. Philip jumped to his feet and turned to the group of teenage lovelies “And that’s exactly how we used to deal with Japanese patrols when I was in Burma” he turned towards the royal party “Ah! There you are dear”
“I think now would be a good time to break off for some brunch, your Majesty” Kevin Ushered her to the Platinum Suite, where a buffet had been laid out.
In a quiet corner of the suite McCabe hissed to Birch “I hope everything is local Trevor”
“Of course it is boss, I scoured the Waitrose at the end of London Road, you don’t get much more local than that!”
“WAITROSE! This is the QUEEN, she’s used to the very, very best”
“Don’t worry Kev, I’ve got it covered, a secret weapon” Trevor reached inside his jacket and produced a very dark brown bottle, with an orange label, together they said “Henderson’s”.
“Hmmm” frowned the queen “I don’t think I’ve eaten food from a stick since we went on safari in Keeenya, Philip”
“What? Oh, no dear we haven’t, no, no, what about Andrew and Sarah’s wedding?”
“Yes, quite” the Queen’s frown deepened.
“May I introduce your Majesty to a Sheffield delicacy?”
“Is it deep fried?”
“No your highness”
“Is it on a stick?”
“No your highness”
“Is it suffixed with ‘puddin’?“
“No your highness”
“Then I shall try some, what is it called?”
“Henderson’s relish” McCabe shook as small amount on to the royal paper plate. The Queen gently removed a cocktail sausage from a stick, dipped it in the spiced sauce, and tasted. The effect was immediate “By ‘eck! That is gorgeous, ‘ey Phil! Ave a go at this, Phil? Phil?”
The Queen scanned the room like a terrier “Where is the blindin’ fool, ‘e better not be chatting birds up again!” She turned and spied the duke, about to place his hand inside a waitress’ blouse “Erm, erm, ahem, and that’s exactly hoe the locals used to treat TB dear!”
“YOU!” Her Majesty exclaimed “Gerrin thi sen in’t car! We’re gooin ‘ome” She dragged him out of the door, BANG! She hit him with the handbag “I’ve nivver been so embarrassed in me life” BANG! “Japanese Patrols!” BANG! “Tradesman’s entrance!” BANG! The car door slammed and lurched towards the M1.
“Well, that could’ve been worse”
“True, true Kev” said Trevor “You should’ve seen what happened when she visited Anfield!”
Kevin McCabe stepped forward and opened the rear door and aided Her Majesty from the opulent limousine. Trevor Birch stepped forward and knocked on the driver’s window “It’s a fiver to park mate, and its £10.50 per person for pensioners”
“Wha, wha, we don’t carry money on visits”
“That’s okay, we take cards” said Birch producing a remote terminal from his inside pocket. The driver reluctantly handed over his debit card.
McCabe guided the royal party towards the players’ entrance “Ah, the TRADESMANS’ ENTRANCE Liz!”
“Do be quiet Philip!” chided Her Majesty “I do apologise Mr McCabe, he’s Greek you see”
Deep in the bowels of the South Stand the royal party and associated hangers on gathered around Kevin in the tiled enclave “Some of the greatest names in the game have changed in this dressing room, showered in those showers and bathed in that bath”
“But it says ‘Visitors’ on the door?” commented a royal protection officer “I know” said McCabe through gritted teeth. As they made their way out of the room into the start of the tunnel, they were greeted by an elderly bench sat against the tunnel wall “When the ground was redeveloped, and the dressing rooms were moved from the John Street to the South Stand, we rescued this bench, as you can see the initials ‘BM’ have been carved into the lats” McCabe indicated the small monogram etched into the bench “Those letters, your Majesty, ladies and gentlemen, we carved by none other than Sir Bobby Moore”
“Oh Sir Bobby, so handsome, and such a gentleman” commented the Queen “1966, bless, what a day THAT was, it cost me an absolute fortune. I’d bet Winston (Churchill) five guineas that we would win, he said the Germans didn’t stand a chance and he matched my five guineas, on England”
“But didn’t he pass away in 1965?” asked McCabe.
“Yes, he did, poor Winny, but his dear Clementine came to collect”
“And what sort of grass is this Mr McCabe”
“It is quite a mixture your Majesty, genetically speaking of course, it’s bred to be very hardwearing, as I’m sure you’re ware…” An excited yelp, scream and a trickle of giggles interrupted Kevin, every pair of eyes turned and focussed on the heap of Bladettes rolling on the floor with the Duke of Edinburgh. The silence brought the melee to a close. Philip jumped to his feet and turned to the group of teenage lovelies “And that’s exactly how we used to deal with Japanese patrols when I was in Burma” he turned towards the royal party “Ah! There you are dear”
“I think now would be a good time to break off for some brunch, your Majesty” Kevin Ushered her to the Platinum Suite, where a buffet had been laid out.
In a quiet corner of the suite McCabe hissed to Birch “I hope everything is local Trevor”
“Of course it is boss, I scoured the Waitrose at the end of London Road, you don’t get much more local than that!”
“WAITROSE! This is the QUEEN, she’s used to the very, very best”
“Don’t worry Kev, I’ve got it covered, a secret weapon” Trevor reached inside his jacket and produced a very dark brown bottle, with an orange label, together they said “Henderson’s”.
“Hmmm” frowned the queen “I don’t think I’ve eaten food from a stick since we went on safari in Keeenya, Philip”
“What? Oh, no dear we haven’t, no, no, what about Andrew and Sarah’s wedding?”
“Yes, quite” the Queen’s frown deepened.
“May I introduce your Majesty to a Sheffield delicacy?”
“Is it deep fried?”
“No your highness”
“Is it on a stick?”
“No your highness”
“Is it suffixed with ‘puddin’?“
“No your highness”
“Then I shall try some, what is it called?”
“Henderson’s relish” McCabe shook as small amount on to the royal paper plate. The Queen gently removed a cocktail sausage from a stick, dipped it in the spiced sauce, and tasted. The effect was immediate “By ‘eck! That is gorgeous, ‘ey Phil! Ave a go at this, Phil? Phil?”
The Queen scanned the room like a terrier “Where is the blindin’ fool, ‘e better not be chatting birds up again!” She turned and spied the duke, about to place his hand inside a waitress’ blouse “Erm, erm, ahem, and that’s exactly hoe the locals used to treat TB dear!”
“YOU!” Her Majesty exclaimed “Gerrin thi sen in’t car! We’re gooin ‘ome” She dragged him out of the door, BANG! She hit him with the handbag “I’ve nivver been so embarrassed in me life” BANG! “Japanese Patrols!” BANG! “Tradesman’s entrance!” BANG! The car door slammed and lurched towards the M1.
“Well, that could’ve been worse”
“True, true Kev” said Trevor “You should’ve seen what happened when she visited Anfield!”
