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Wanderers Ways. Neil Thompson 1961-2021

Burnden Park Pics


freds dad

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Top right - those temporary fences topped with a line of barbed wire. I tore my sac clambering over one of them.

 

I was walking a girl home - both pissed up. As we were passing Burnden, I was overcome with emotion, nostalgia and bravado,

I ran to the fence, clambered over (nicking my sac - tore was an overstatement, tore my levis tho') and somehow gained access.

 

My dreams of running around on the pitch unfettered were dashed, it had all been ploughed up into massive 'molehills' - I ran up one for some reason, got covered in shit and returned to the girl in that state. All I had to show for my endeavours were; a piece of sink porcelain from one of the bogs (the fire had made them brittle), torn jeans, a nick on my scrotum and an unimpressed girlfriend.

 

I'd do it again in a flash if there was a chance :)

Edited by Youri McAnespie
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It was unmistakable that smell on the paddock - piss, fresh tobacco smoke, stale ale, a hint of aftershave, an occasional whiff of 'tobacco flavouring' and (for some reason) creosote/tar.

 

And disinfectant, you could smell it on your clothes when you got home.

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