In this instalment of The Two Sheds Review, I had intended to bring you a review of the Ultimate Wrestling Alliance's show at the Ipswich Corn Exchange last night. However, various circumstances conspired against me, meaning that I didn't actually get to the show at all.
This journey began about a week ago, when my good buddy, wrestler, and UWA co-owner Paul Tyrell got in touch with me. Realising that his big show needed one thing, i.e. Norfolk's leading wrestling reporter, he invited down to the show. My natural aversion to all things Ipswich was put to one side as I accepted his invitation, and decided to step into enemy territory.
Having arranged return transportation from Ipswich with my regular travelling partners, the world's largest tag-team, and two men who are glad they're not from Potter's Bar, the U.K. Pitbulls, all I had to do was sort out which train I had to get down to Ipswich on.
Two days before the show, I recruited a travelling companion in WAW trainee Carl "Malachy" Ford. Carl was eager to see another British wrestling company's product, having been fed a staple diet of non-stop WAW action over the past two years or so.
And so it was that Norwich's answer to Jay and Silent Bob, minus the dick jokes, made their way to Norwich Train Station to catch the train to Ipswich. Carl, having been to Ipswich only once before, didn't take too kindly to my instructions on how to handle one's self while in the home of the Tractor Boys. "Tell everyone you think Nigel Worthington is a nice bloke.", I said. "And remember to sing that great song; 'On the ball City.....'".
And so we travelled into enemy territory, I began to think of seeing some of my fellow smart marks, guys I hadn't seen in quite a while, such as Chris and Sarah from 1 Stop Wrestling, and Dan(nnnnnnn) Read, Ipswich's premier wrestling radio show host, a virtual celebrity in his home town, and in a five-mile radius outside of the city.
The journey began without incident, but as we began to pull out of Diss, a town Karl Kragious hasn't heard of (insider WAW joke here!), the train begins to jerks. It starts, then it stops, then it starts up again. As we begin to move to our next stop in Stowmarket, the conductor makes an important announcement. Mother Nature has struck. The old excuse of leaves on the line is used, and we are told that our journey might have to come to an end in Stowmarket. Leaves on the line? Did I forget to mention that the leaves were still attached to several trees that were covering the train tracks as well. (This joke (c) Carl Ford.)
So as the train pulls into Stowmarket, the conductor again speaks to us, and tells us the awful truth. The rumours were true. Several uprooted trees were now laid across the tracks, stopping the train from getting to Ipswich. Damn! (This comment (c) Ron Simmons.)
The Anglia Railways staff begin to run around like a bunch of headless chickens. The conductor informs us that they're trying to get some buses up and running, but this may take some time. He then asks us to stay on the train.
About this time a rather strict looking woman begins to rush up and down the platform as she shows that she undertook a customer relations course run by the Gestapo. One minute we're told to stay on the train, the next old Helga tells us to get off. It was then that we decided that it was probably in our best interests to forget the show and to get back to Norwich.
With our decision to return to Norwich made, I make a phone call to Paul Tyrell. Paul is gutted that best wrestling reporter in Norfolk is unable to get to the show. He compares the surroundings to a certain part of a dog's anatomy, and tells me of the pyro, the lasers, the smoke machines, and of the dancing girls. We were going to miss all of this, but more importantly, we were going to miss the UWA dancing girls.
While Helga barks orders up and down the station, our trusty train driver tells us that although the train has been ordered back to Norwich, he can't take us back, despite the fact that he'd like to. By then we travellers began to get annoyed, especially with Helga continuing to run things as if she were in a concentration camp. Eventually, the powers-that-be of Anglia Railways relent, and we are allowed to return to Norwich on the train.
With no wrestling show to go to, Carl and I decide to return to his house, to down a few beers, and to watch a few repeats on The Wrestling Channel. A taxi is booked to take me back to the train station at 8.30pm, so I can get the 9pm train back to Cromer. Several beers, and stories, and views on the current wrestling scene are exchanged before this time. During this I discover that perhaps Carl has a bit too much money at the moment, as he polishes his shiny replica WWE title belts. That's the only way this aspiring wrestler is going to get any sort of championship gold!
8.30pm arrives, and no f'n taxi. As the effects of several beers begins to take hold, I begin to curse Norwich's taxi firms, until when, at 8.40pm, the car finally arrives. Bidding my farewell to the bearded one, I get into the car.
For some reason the old boy who has been assigned to my journey decides that he's not going to drive very fast, despite the fact that the roads are relatively clear. During our trip we listen to a show on Radio 4, about the Isle of Man TT races. My driver then begins a story about how he used to race carts on the Isle of Man, and how he almost hit a brick wall while racing on the TT circuit. He certainly wasn't taking any chances on the journey!
So I arrive at the station, and immediately swear. I miss the 9pm train by five f'n minutes. With very little money left, I find that I have to wait at the station for an hour and a half until the last train home. Plenty of time to play the ten pin bowling game on my mobile.
Around 10.30pm, a train pulls in from London, full of disgruntled Norwich City Supporters. Unhappy with the fact that their team lost 1-0 to Crystal Palace, they were even more disgruntled by the fact that their journey, which normally would take just under two hours, had taken them nearly five. A group of them stormed the customer service office to voice their complaints. In fact, those staffing the office obviously felt in some sort of danger, as from out of nowhere, yellow-jacketed security guards made an appearance.
As the train to my hometown of Cromer pulled into the station fifteen minutes later, I began to think that finally I would be able to get home. As I seated myself, and began to snooze, the conductor made an announcement - there would be a delay of five minutes. Damn! The last thing I remember seeing before I began to snooze again was the conductor walking down the platform.
I woke up a few moments later. The lights had dimmed. The engine had been switched off. Some of the disgruntled football fans began to discuss Wrestlemania XX. I looked down at my mobile - it was gone eleven! I was about to get off the train to find out what the hell was going on, when one of the footy fans took it upon himself to do this. Moments later he returned, closely followed by the conductor who had apparently abandoned us before. Finally, at 11.15pm, thirty minutes after our original departure time, we were finally on our way back to Cromer.
I got back home at 12.30am, about ten hours after I had left my home. Ten hours before I had high hopes of seeing some friends I hadn't seen in a while, friends who shared with me my love of professional wrestling. I had high hopes of seeing a night of great wrestling action presented by the Ultimate Wrestling Alliance, of seeing "Flying" Phil Powers take on Jake "The Snake" Roberts in a grudge match, of seeing "Rowdy" Ricky Knight and the Zebra Kid go at it in a knockdown, drag-out affair, of seeing "The Wonderkid" Jonny Storm exchange high-flying moves with Paul Tyrell.
And of course, seeing the pyro, the lasers, the smoke machine, and the UWA dancing girls. Because of Mother Nature, and the apparent ineptitude of Anglia Railways, I was denied the chance of seeing some dancing girls.
The UWA are returning to Ipswich in July. The weather should be a whole lot warmer. Hopefully, the railway authorities will have removed those trees by then, but given the current state of the British railway network, I have my doubts.
With thanks to Carl for being a great travelling companion, and for supplying the beers, and to Paul Tyrell and the UWA for the invitation.
This journey began about a week ago, when my good buddy, wrestler, and UWA co-owner Paul Tyrell got in touch with me. Realising that his big show needed one thing, i.e. Norfolk's leading wrestling reporter, he invited down to the show. My natural aversion to all things Ipswich was put to one side as I accepted his invitation, and decided to step into enemy territory.
Having arranged return transportation from Ipswich with my regular travelling partners, the world's largest tag-team, and two men who are glad they're not from Potter's Bar, the U.K. Pitbulls, all I had to do was sort out which train I had to get down to Ipswich on.
Two days before the show, I recruited a travelling companion in WAW trainee Carl "Malachy" Ford. Carl was eager to see another British wrestling company's product, having been fed a staple diet of non-stop WAW action over the past two years or so.
And so it was that Norwich's answer to Jay and Silent Bob, minus the dick jokes, made their way to Norwich Train Station to catch the train to Ipswich. Carl, having been to Ipswich only once before, didn't take too kindly to my instructions on how to handle one's self while in the home of the Tractor Boys. "Tell everyone you think Nigel Worthington is a nice bloke.", I said. "And remember to sing that great song; 'On the ball City.....'".
And so we travelled into enemy territory, I began to think of seeing some of my fellow smart marks, guys I hadn't seen in quite a while, such as Chris and Sarah from 1 Stop Wrestling, and Dan(nnnnnnn) Read, Ipswich's premier wrestling radio show host, a virtual celebrity in his home town, and in a five-mile radius outside of the city.
The journey began without incident, but as we began to pull out of Diss, a town Karl Kragious hasn't heard of (insider WAW joke here!), the train begins to jerks. It starts, then it stops, then it starts up again. As we begin to move to our next stop in Stowmarket, the conductor makes an important announcement. Mother Nature has struck. The old excuse of leaves on the line is used, and we are told that our journey might have to come to an end in Stowmarket. Leaves on the line? Did I forget to mention that the leaves were still attached to several trees that were covering the train tracks as well. (This joke (c) Carl Ford.)
So as the train pulls into Stowmarket, the conductor again speaks to us, and tells us the awful truth. The rumours were true. Several uprooted trees were now laid across the tracks, stopping the train from getting to Ipswich. Damn! (This comment (c) Ron Simmons.)
The Anglia Railways staff begin to run around like a bunch of headless chickens. The conductor informs us that they're trying to get some buses up and running, but this may take some time. He then asks us to stay on the train.
About this time a rather strict looking woman begins to rush up and down the platform as she shows that she undertook a customer relations course run by the Gestapo. One minute we're told to stay on the train, the next old Helga tells us to get off. It was then that we decided that it was probably in our best interests to forget the show and to get back to Norwich.
With our decision to return to Norwich made, I make a phone call to Paul Tyrell. Paul is gutted that best wrestling reporter in Norfolk is unable to get to the show. He compares the surroundings to a certain part of a dog's anatomy, and tells me of the pyro, the lasers, the smoke machines, and of the dancing girls. We were going to miss all of this, but more importantly, we were going to miss the UWA dancing girls.
While Helga barks orders up and down the station, our trusty train driver tells us that although the train has been ordered back to Norwich, he can't take us back, despite the fact that he'd like to. By then we travellers began to get annoyed, especially with Helga continuing to run things as if she were in a concentration camp. Eventually, the powers-that-be of Anglia Railways relent, and we are allowed to return to Norwich on the train.
With no wrestling show to go to, Carl and I decide to return to his house, to down a few beers, and to watch a few repeats on The Wrestling Channel. A taxi is booked to take me back to the train station at 8.30pm, so I can get the 9pm train back to Cromer. Several beers, and stories, and views on the current wrestling scene are exchanged before this time. During this I discover that perhaps Carl has a bit too much money at the moment, as he polishes his shiny replica WWE title belts. That's the only way this aspiring wrestler is going to get any sort of championship gold!
8.30pm arrives, and no f'n taxi. As the effects of several beers begins to take hold, I begin to curse Norwich's taxi firms, until when, at 8.40pm, the car finally arrives. Bidding my farewell to the bearded one, I get into the car.
For some reason the old boy who has been assigned to my journey decides that he's not going to drive very fast, despite the fact that the roads are relatively clear. During our trip we listen to a show on Radio 4, about the Isle of Man TT races. My driver then begins a story about how he used to race carts on the Isle of Man, and how he almost hit a brick wall while racing on the TT circuit. He certainly wasn't taking any chances on the journey!
So I arrive at the station, and immediately swear. I miss the 9pm train by five f'n minutes. With very little money left, I find that I have to wait at the station for an hour and a half until the last train home. Plenty of time to play the ten pin bowling game on my mobile.
Around 10.30pm, a train pulls in from London, full of disgruntled Norwich City Supporters. Unhappy with the fact that their team lost 1-0 to Crystal Palace, they were even more disgruntled by the fact that their journey, which normally would take just under two hours, had taken them nearly five. A group of them stormed the customer service office to voice their complaints. In fact, those staffing the office obviously felt in some sort of danger, as from out of nowhere, yellow-jacketed security guards made an appearance.
As the train to my hometown of Cromer pulled into the station fifteen minutes later, I began to think that finally I would be able to get home. As I seated myself, and began to snooze, the conductor made an announcement - there would be a delay of five minutes. Damn! The last thing I remember seeing before I began to snooze again was the conductor walking down the platform.
I woke up a few moments later. The lights had dimmed. The engine had been switched off. Some of the disgruntled football fans began to discuss Wrestlemania XX. I looked down at my mobile - it was gone eleven! I was about to get off the train to find out what the hell was going on, when one of the footy fans took it upon himself to do this. Moments later he returned, closely followed by the conductor who had apparently abandoned us before. Finally, at 11.15pm, thirty minutes after our original departure time, we were finally on our way back to Cromer.
I got back home at 12.30am, about ten hours after I had left my home. Ten hours before I had high hopes of seeing some friends I hadn't seen in a while, friends who shared with me my love of professional wrestling. I had high hopes of seeing a night of great wrestling action presented by the Ultimate Wrestling Alliance, of seeing "Flying" Phil Powers take on Jake "The Snake" Roberts in a grudge match, of seeing "Rowdy" Ricky Knight and the Zebra Kid go at it in a knockdown, drag-out affair, of seeing "The Wonderkid" Jonny Storm exchange high-flying moves with Paul Tyrell.
And of course, seeing the pyro, the lasers, the smoke machine, and the UWA dancing girls. Because of Mother Nature, and the apparent ineptitude of Anglia Railways, I was denied the chance of seeing some dancing girls.
The UWA are returning to Ipswich in July. The weather should be a whole lot warmer. Hopefully, the railway authorities will have removed those trees by then, but given the current state of the British railway network, I have my doubts.
With thanks to Carl for being a great travelling companion, and for supplying the beers, and to Paul Tyrell and the UWA for the invitation.
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