Oh to hell with it, here’s another blog entry.  It’s been two years since the last one which coincided with a difficult period of time.   The loss of two of my closest friends tore a hole in my life.   Childhood friends, old drinking buddies and later fellow recoverers.  Approximately one half of my IVF (Inter Village Firm) that terrorized the teapots at local non league football clubs between 2002 and 2012. Two fellow Old School Pessimists with whom I met nearly every Friday morning in a local café to put the world to rights.  We made Karl Pilkington look like one of the Chuckle Brothers.   And it’s only now that I feel like writing again.  The IVF carries on in the shape of me and my faithful apprentice AC plus the odd friend or family member flitting around the local non league clubs.   We did follow Weymouth and then Dorchester with season tickets duly seeing them both relegated and in true OSP style, feeling partly responsible.   We vowed never to commit to another club again.  Last night saw us at Poole Town FC who were playing Wimborne Town in a Red Insure Cup game.   PTFC has to go down as the worst signposted club in the history of our match attendance.   Even though I used satellite technology to plan my route we arrived with three minutes to spare before ko which is a record for us although we left 45 minutes before which is coincidentally the length of one half of a game of football.   The floodlights were visible from the main road but as we tore up and down the local side streets they either diminished or grew in the rear view mirror as we alternatively neared or distanced ourselves from our destination.   Not a single sign either for the ground or even parking.  We saved by a classic man and his dog situation.   He directed us down a road we had thrice passed and dismissed as an option being signposted as a dead end.   It transpired that you had to drive down there and park in the school car park before walking across the school pitches to the entrance.   The dog said nothing.  The car park was full so we left Gladys (my daughters car) with two wheels on the pavement and straddling double yellows.   Apparently it’s only half the fine.   As this was non league football game there weren’t streams of people making their way to the game so we had to guess a route which took us around a full three sides of the ground before we found a turnstile.   Admittedly this was partly due to ground improvements being undertakenbut even so.   However on the way around we found a football which AC skilfully kicked into the nearby bushes for collection later.   As we reached the turnstiles we realized we had made it with three minutes to spare and the clown in front of us in the queue complaining his season ticket didn’t allow him into cup games although it is made clear when you buy one didn’t help.   So as I was getting the teas in, the teams were actually walking out onto the pitch and the whistle blew as we took our seats.   It was a good game of football and Poole Town ran out the eventual 3-0 winners.   We judged it to be the most skilful game we have seen in a long time and being neutral fans paid off.  After following West Ham, Weymouth and Dorchester we had an unprecedented sense of ease. Following our longstanding tradition we marked the game, the tea and bacon sandwich out of ten and the results were: game 7/10, tea 4½/10, bacon sandwich 7/10.   On the long journey back to the car we collected the ball from the bank of the stream it had unknown to us rolled down in to.  It proved difficult to reach and one attempt involved AC clamping his feet around it while I grabbed his arms and pulled him up the bank.  In the end he just jumped down and threw it out.   Result.