Anthony Hart writes a timelog of what it would have been like to travel back from Portman Road
Full time at Portman Road. We weren’t very good at all tonight. No goals, no threat, no hope. And now we’ve got to travel all the way back to Bolton
Quick stop at the pub for a consolatory beer. It’s quite nice, that boozer near the train station.
Last orders, and we begin our journey. Our first of many roads is the A14.
I should say I’m not doing the driving. The driver is teetotal. Remember that, kids.
What is wrong with East Anglia? It’s like when they invented the motorways they ran out of money and thought ‘Sod it, these lot and the North Welsh can go without.’ Madness.
I fell asleep, We’re still on a dual carriageway. I think I saw a cow.
I think we’ve seen a motorway. No dual carriageway. Balls.
We’re at a service station. We’ve stopped for 15 minutes. The pasties are cold. This is horrible. We make our way back once again.
We smell, and I have a beard which I didn’t have when Brett Pitman slotted in Ipswich’s second. I hope we get back in time for the Bristol City match? Or do I actually?
Are we still in the same time zone? I think we’re on the M1 now, which is progress.
NOOOOOOOO! We’ve broken down.
The bloke from the RAC has finally arrived. I’m just hoping we get towed. I really do. We’ll only break down again.
Nah, he’s not towing us. He’s done something. We’re going again.
On the M62. Nearly there, nearly…what’s the smoke? Better call the RAC then…
We’re still not getting towed. Damn.
We’ve survived. We’re home. Work in an hour though. Why???