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Result(s) Sat 8th Sept


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Mousehole 4 Foxhole 1

Saturday 8th September 2007

Typical, isn't it? Faced with our longest trip of the season and the car refuses to start. Remembering that my Green Flag membership had expired sometime in the last century, there was only one thing for it, so, after numerous calls to taxi firms, an entirely fictitious one eventually agreed to take me.

The cab arrived within 10 minutes. The driver was very cross-eyed, which unnerved me momentarily, although not as much as his ready smile and sleeveless T-shirt. As I climbed into the back seat, my heart was pumping while he radioed back to the office that he was about to "take a chap from Foxhole up the bypass" until I realised he was actually referring to the A30.

The driver, who introduced himself as John, explained to me that he was not completely used to the controls of the car (which did nothing to ease my precarious state of mind) having only driven it for the first time the night before. I could well believe it as we lurched forward nearly into the path of a lorry, the wipers scraped against the bone-dry windscreen, and the sun-roof opened and closed exactly in time to the Boomtown Rats playing on the radio.

Normally whenever I take a taxi, I like to talk about my problems, which I find has two distinct advantages: it stops the driver telling me his, and we habitually arrive at my destination faster. This time, however, he was too quick off the mark and proceeded to speak of the prophetic tragedies that had beset his immediate family. Two of them had died: a sister, who had been both a clairvoyant and a contortionist, and had seen her own end coming; and a brother, who had moved to Texas as a teenager, got into deep trouble with the law, and had known the exact day he would die (the judge told him). Another sister had been born with two left feet: apparently she would leave the house in the morning for work, walk in a circle and arrive back at the front door within a dozen steps (she had to work from home in the end). John was also having problems with his boss, who had evidently increased his hours but not his wage: his shift pattern had changed from six-till-six ("twelve hours") to seven-till-seven ("fourteen hours") - I didn't have the heart to tell him.

He would occasionally glance at me in the mirror (I remember thinking I could never see eye to eye with him) as he repeatedly swerved from lane to lane, appearing to have one eye on the hedge and one on the road (which I suppose was entirely possible). It was as if he thought he was in a dodgem, and I had to check over my shoulder in case a youth with greasy hair and bad teeth was clinging onto the back of the car, ready to ask me for a quid.

John dropped me off just outside Mousehole, so I could soak up the match day atmosphere. However, so desolate and eerie was the countryside I thought I'd actually stumbled on the set of The Blair Witch Project. The place didn't seem aware it was soon to be invaded by diehard Foxhole fans - even the sheep seemed surprised to see me. I wasn't sure where the pitch was, and was forced to reluctantly interrupt a bickering couple, noisily quarrelling on the pavement. They couldn't even agree which way to send me to the ground, and I hurriedly apologised for bothering them. They marched off, still arguing, in the direction of Penzance railway station, where perhaps a train was waiting to whisk them off to record their appearance on The Jeremy Kyle Show.

I wish I joined them after suffering this abject performance by the Foxes, who were second best all over the pitch and were fortunate that over elaborate and profligate finishing late on by the home team kept the scoreline just about respectable. Mousehole were bright, inventive, quick, strong and committed - everything, frankly, that we weren't.

Prowse and Day soon began to boss the midfield but thankfully their final ball for the eager pairing of Ivanov and Tonkin was often too strong. Foxhole weren't creating much, but appeared to have weathered the storm when they went ahead on 35 minutes. In attempting to clear Hill's driven cross, James thumped the ball back towards his own goal which Chatfield miraculously turned over the bar. However, from the resultant corner, Morris volleyed home from six yards; within moments, Mark Rowe's effort flew just wide. This was as good as it got, though: first Ivanov burst clear before shooting narrowly past the post before Tonkin rounded Holland to equalise on 44. Then, in injury time, Day's shot was well saved but Prowse reacted first to the rebound.

Within two minutes of the restart, it was effectively all over when Mousehole made it 3-1. Rowe collided with Wing outside the box and, to general bemusement from both teams, the referee deemed it worthy of a penalty, which Ivanov despatched with ease. The Bulgarian soon added a fourth, turning Lawrence before cleverly chipping home.

The final 38 minutes degenerated into an embarrassing game of attack versus defence. Further damage was somehow prevented by good goalkeeping and some desperate defending, but Ivanov, George and Fletcher, among others all wasted good opportunities to inflict further woe on the beleagured visitors, whose dreadful day was completed with cautions for Rowe and Warne.

Foxhole(3-5-2): Ryan Holland 7; Mark Rowe 7, Dexter Lawrence 6 (sub. Liam Nicholls 6), David Grose 6; Adam Rowe 6, Jason Warne 6, Andrew May 6 (sub. Adam Holland 6), Colin Morris 6 (sub. Richard Fairclough 6), Steve Panter 6; Liam Ames 6, Scott Hill 6.

Mousehole(4-4-2): Ian Chatfield; Scott Clackworthy (sub. Tom Patrick), Will Blight, Mark Trevail, Toby Cape; Gerran James, Jack Wing (sub. Mark George), Joe Day, Barrie Prowse; Emil Ivanov, John Tonkin (sub. Adam Fletcher).

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Guest Helston Patriot

Mousehole 4 Foxhole 1

Saturday 8th September 2007

Normally whenever I take a taxi, I like to talk about my problems, which I find has two distinct advantages: it stops the driver telling me his, and we habitually arrive at my destination faster. This time, however, he was too quick off the mark and proceeded to speak of the prophetic tragedies that had beset his immediate family. Two of them had died: a sister, who had been both a clairvoyant and a contortionist, and had seen her own end coming; and a brother, who had moved to Texas as a teenager, got into deep trouble with the law, and had known the exact day he would die (the judge told him). Another sister had been born with two left feet: apparently she would leave the house in the morning for work, walk in a circle and arrive back at the front door within a dozen steps (she had to work from home in the end). John was also having problems with his boss, who had evidently increased his hours but not his wage: his shift pattern had changed from six-till-six ("twelve hours") to seven-till-seven ("fourteen hours") - I didn't have the heart to tell him.

Class! :thumbsup:

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