Promotion.

We are up by six, after a poor night's sleep, glad to see the breaking dawn and later the rising sun. We share some kippers and rye toast for breakfast and eat in the garden, listening to the sweet sound of birdsong. To the northwest dark clouds are gathering and by eight o'clock the sky is dark and overcast. Whilst I am showering, squally rain rattles the bathroom window, and I have to rethink my dress for the day. The forecast was for a fairly warm day, but forecasts can be and often are, inaccurate, at the local level. Louis and I are going to the big match today and need to leave before eleven thirty, as kick off is at a quarter to one and the roads will be busy. I dig out my Barbour wax jacket from it's box in the garage, where I had packed it with other winter coats a couple of days ago. I phone Felicity and Liz, the Sherpa, answers, I recognise her Australian burr immediately and ask whether the old girl will make the Poppy Seed? Liz confirms that she will drop her off there by ten, so I tell her that I will be there early as well, but will have to leave by a quarter to eleven, in order to be in time for the match. By the time we set off, the sun has come out and it is warm again, so I hang my wax jacket in the car and put on a brown whipcord blazer and carry a small umbrella in my pocket. We park at our usual place down Norwood and then walk into town, as we pass through the bus station, Hull City supporters, in their replica Tiger's football shirts, are already queuing for the bus to the city. Outside the Poppy Seed, we meet Jill Jones and her daughter Hannah, she tells me they are just popping into the market and will join us for coffee in ten minutes. Jill is about eighty five and fell off her bike a fortnight ago, but looks remarkably well. Felicity is sat at a table by the window, tucking into a toasted teacake and a glass of milk. She is feeling down, Molly, her aged brown dog, has been re homed, to her son, Richard's, house in Chorley, in Lancashire. She tells me that she would have preferred to let Molly see out her days with her. I agree that would have been ideal, but assure her that Molly will soon settle in and be happy with Richard and his family. The old girl is feeling sorry for herself and that sentiment mustn't be allowed to grow stronger. Hanne arrives, all brisk Danish enthusiasm and optimism, shortly followed by Felicitiy's sister, Joy and then Jill and daughter Hannah return from the market, which forces us to pull two tables together. Surrounded by all her friends, Felicity's spirits start to lift and she is laughing happily by the time Normy and I leave at a quarter to eleven. Back home, I feed Norman some Baker's and leave him fresh water, before picking up my shoulder bag with Louis picnic lunch enclosed and then driving back to North Bar to collect him. He is wearing his black and amber Tiger's shirt and raring to go when I arrive, we listen to the pre match report on radio Humberside as we drive to Mark's flats at Linnaeus street, taking a wide detour to the east of the city, so that we can approach the stadium area from the opposite direction to the majority of the traffic. Nevertheless, we end up in a traffic queue over the river Hull, to our left lies the river Humber and the ship's prow shape of the "Deep", the city's award winning aquarium and to our right, the river Hull and the swing footbridge that will connect the old town with the new hotel on the east bank. I can also see the "Hull Time Based Arts" building, whose relocation, I project managed ten years ago. The traffic moves on and we arrive at Linnaeus shortly after noon, Mark and his son, Jamie, are just alighting from their car and Louis runs to give them a hug, before we all set off to walk the half mile to the stadium. It seems like the whole population of the city are on their way to the match and there is a real buzz of anticipation in the air. At the pedestrian crossing the traffic stops to let us cross, all the cars are full of supporters and they honk their horns at us as we cross, Louis waving back at them happily. The fact that we haven't won, or even scored, in our last three matches and have to beat the best team in the league this afternoon to secure promotion, is lost on the crowd. If faith can move mountains, it may get us past Cardiff this afternoon. We arrive in our seats ten minutes before kick off, the stadium is a sea of black and amber Tiger's colours, apart from the North Stand, where several thousand Cardiff fans are congregated, mostly in their traditional blue shirts, but some in the new lucky red strips, that the recent Chinese owners have insisted on adopting. We have each been provided with black and amber cardboard fans, that double as clackers and as posters to wave as the teams come out. Sky TV are covering the match, usually the kiss of death for our team, and the cameramen scurry to cover the emergence of the players from the tunnel. Hull come out first and form a funnel and then applaud the champions, Cardiff, as they walk through them on to the pitch, as tradition demands. The clouds have disappeared, the sun is shining, and the stage is set for the biggest match in the club's history. When the whistle blows the Tiger's start briskly, quickly closing down their opponents and pressing in attack, the crowd responds with roars of approval, this is what we have come to see, a do or die attempt for promotion. The manager, Steve Bruce, has thrown caution to the wind and changed both formation, and players for this crucial game, although his choices were limited as out three best strikers, Aluko, Gedo and Fryatt are all injured, or in the case of Fryatt, not yet fully match fit. Hull dominate the first half, but without managing to score and good news comes in from Watford, our rivals for automatic promotion, they have gone a goal down, at home to Leeds, but their match is running fifteen minutes later than ours due to a serious injury to their goal keeper. Louis and I eat our ciabatta salami and smoked cheese sandwiches and then share a Tupperware pot of black cherries and plain yogurt, before descending the stairs to the toilets. He has managed to last the first half without needing a pee, and the latrines are quieter, because of our delay. A disappointed sigh goes up from the bar area as we emerge from the loo, Watford have equalised, just before half time at Vicarage Road. We are one point ahead of them and need to match their performance, as they have a better goal difference than us. We get back to our seats only moments before the second half begins, with Cardiff making a substitution, bringing on a new striker, Fraizer Campbell, who played for us five years ago, on loan from Manchester United, the last time we won promotion. He is greeted by a mixture of cheers and boos, Steve Bruce tried to sign him from his old club, Sunderland, in January, but Cardiff offered a better deal and so, sensibly, he joined them instead. The second half continues as the first half ended with Hull pressing and dominating the game, but Cardiff counter attack swiftly and a great pass and a well timed run sees Campbell one on one with David Stockdale, the Hull Keeper. Campbell strokes the ball past him into the net and then runs to welcome the hugs from his ecstatic team mates. It could have been written in the stars! The Cardiff fans erupt and our fans are silenced, but someone in front of us shouts, "come on West stand, let's give the lads a lift", so Louis and I join in the cheering and eventually others contribute and after a while, the whole stadium is willing the team to respond. Our record signing, German Striker, Nick Proschwitz, who has so far failed to make an impact this season, obliges and equalises five minutes later, and the stadium goes wild. A few minutes after that and Paul McShane, recently returned from injury, gives us the lead and a party atmosphere erupts, but is soon replaced by nervous expectancy, as there are still twenty minutes left to play. Cardiff press to get the equaliser and City start to drop back, but Steve Bruce, the manager, urges them forward again. With five minutes left to play Cardiff have a player sent off for a second yellow card offence, after a foul against our right winger, Elmohammady. At this crucial juncture, Louis declares he is bursting for the toilet, but before we can leave, David Meylor is brought down in the box and Hull have a penalty. I tell Louis to wait a moment, a group of about one hundred, over excited, Hull fans burst onto the pitch and have to be cleared before the penalty is taken. Nicky Proschwitz steps up to take it and hits the ball towards the left corner of the Cardiff goal, only to see it tipped round the post by a world class save from their keeper. With two minutes to go Steve Bruce substitutes Robbie Brady, who has been playing as a striker, with Ahmed Fahti, a midfielder. I lead Louis down the stairs to the toilet and then watch from the tunnel while he relieves himself, he returns just as Cardiff attack and the ball bounces up and strikes the hand of big Abdullah Faye, in the Hull penalty area and the referee points to the spot. Cardiff score from the subsequent penalty kick and it is now two goals each. The fourth official holds up the board to say there are four minutes of extra time and the atmosphere in the stadium is unbelievable, the game swinging end to end and both teams having chances to win the game in the final minutes, but it finally ends in a draw. The fans invade the pitch again in their thousands and this time there is no holding them back, a cordon of yellow vested policeman guard the Cardiff supporters, who are in a party mood anyway, as they have already secured promotion. The tannoy announces that the score at Watford is still one all, with five minutes left to play, and then again at two minutes, a ripple runs through the crowd and someone murmurs there has been a goal at Watford. If they have scored and win, Watford will be promoted. A jubilant voice from the tannoy announces that Leeds have taken the lead at Vicarage road and there are only two minutes of extra time to play, and the party starts, Watford will need to score twice now in order to deny us promotion. Two minutes later, the final result is announced and both sets of fans are now celebrating promotion to the premier league, the police cordon was prudent, but ultimately unnecessary, everyone is happy, there are now more fans on the pitch than in the stands. The big monitor in the corner of the stadium, is showing scenes of jubilation in the dressing room, as Steve Bruce and the players celebrate, Louis wants to go on the pitch and join the party, but it is Impossible from the upper West stand. We soak up the atmosphere for ten minutes and then quietly make our way back to the car in bright sunshine, a few fans from both teams are starting to make their way out of the stadiums as well. We return to the car and drive to Hessle, ahead of the mad rush when the majority of the fans go home, and call at the shop down Hull Road, where I have arranged to pick up the wicker cycle basket for Norman. The boys in the shop have been watching the match on Sky TV and ask how it was, I try to reply, but find my voice has been reduced to a croak by the cheering, so Louis tells them that it was great. Next door is a fish and chip shop, where we buy two cans of Sprite, to slake our thirst, Louis declining the offer of food. Sarah has texted to say she has taken Alice to see Ironman 3 and will be back for five o'clock, so Louis and I drive back to Beverley, park by Saint Mary's church and have a wander through town, he telling anyone who will listen that the Tiger's have won promotion and cars with supporters honking their horns as they drive past. Louis somehow manages to find a Manchester United Rucksack in a charity shop and insists on buying it with his pocket money. As we wander through Toll Gavel, I stop at Thornton's and buy overpriced ice creams for us both, vanilla for me and chocolate for Louis, which quickly becomes spread, like a clown's lipstick, all around his mouth. When we arrive at Sarah's house, she places his ice cream in a bowl, wipes his face, and gives him a spoon with which to eat it. She has just cleaned the house! Tiredness is catching up with me from the huge emotional expenditure, so I leave Louis in his mother's care and head home. Norman is waiting for his dinner, so after letting him out into the garden, I feed him and pour fresh water in his bowl. I am too tired to cook, so just make a pot of tea and toast some muffins, which I eat with strawberry conserve, before answering texts from Clement and my cousin Irene's husband, David, regarding arrangements for tomorrow. I read a couple of chapters of Le Carre and then turn in, too tired to read further, at a quarter to nine. It has been quite a day and one that Louiscwill probably remember for the rest of his life.