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Then I lost my job . . .

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I had it all planned out in my head . . .

 

 

I fly into Manchester with just a backpack as luggage and a pair of good hiking boots. Take the bus over the Snake. As soon as the driver sees Ladybower, I tell him to drop me off. I walk to the Yorkshire Bridge. I tell Helen, the landlady that I've hiked from the Snake Inn, she gives me a free pint of Guiness and a ploughmans lunch. I stay the night there. After a hearty breakfast I set off walking again.

 

 

It's a warm sunny day and I'm in heaven, not since the winter of '95 have I smelled the green green grass of home. A car stops and offers me a lift, it's Eric Hildrew, the communications manager of the Graves Art Gallery. We engage in a lively conversation about abstract art, it's beginnings in impressionism and it's relationship to the changing modern world. He takes a huge detour to drop me off outside Bramall Lane.

 

 

I just wanted just to look upon it's hallowed towers probably for the last time but there in the car park is Tony Currie. He remembers me, we shake hands but I audaciously decline his invitation to lunch, I must get home. I haven't seen Mum for 17 years. She was 89 last January.

 

 

Then I lost my job . . .

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Hi Downsunder, I hope you can find another job because it seems a great dream and I sure you deserve the dream to become reality. Good luck.

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wish i could meet tony currie

 

I've met "god" a couple of times, even stood outside on John Street many moons ago in pouring rain, for over an hour, waiting to get his autograph.

 

To the OP downsunder, I hope you find work again, & get to finalise your dream. :):)

Edited by Bypassblade

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wish i could meet tony currie

please excuse my ignorance but who the hell is tony currie:confused::confused:

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please excuse my ignorance but who the hell is tony currie:confused::confused:

 

I can see you are in Canada, but do you not have any Sheffield connections?..not being rude but you must either be young, or lived on a desert island.

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please excuse my ignorance but who the hell is tony currie:confused::confused:

 

If you call in the local indian late at night and say " what you got left to eat" the reply is "Tonycurry now":hihi: joking aside he was a very good player for the blades.

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If you call in the local indian late at night and say " what you got left to eat" the reply is "Tonycurry now":hihi: joking aside he was a very good player for the blades.

thank you now i know a football player, I wont hurt bypass's feeling by asking who on earth are the Blades :hihi::hihi: must be one of those school teams:hihi::hihi: i remember wed & the united

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Quote:

Originally Posted by Gazza58 View Post

If you call in the local indian late at night and say " what you got left to eat" the reply is "Tonycurry now" joking aside he was a very good player for the blades.

 

thank you now i know a football player, I wont hurt bypass's feeling by asking who on earth are the Blades must be one of those school teams i remember wed & the united

 

You two I like :)..... good joke Gazza not heard that one seriously m8, & flyer; an ex pat with a sense of humour, mind you an Owl, you do need one..... be good both :):)

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Thanks everyone for your kind words.

 

The saga continues . . .

 

 

I walk up Shoreham Street and head back into town - the via Dolorosa for United supporters. But wait, where are my feet taking me? I turn into Matilda Street, then Sydney Street. What's this? A carpark! I'm standing before a carpark and tears are welling up in my eyes. I was 16, fresh out of school and this was my first job. Fel Electric once stood on this very spot, a small, nondescript, 2 storey wooden building that was later destroyed in a fire.

 

I wipe my eyes and take the 75 bus. I get off just past the Burngreave Cellar and head for my local. I remember the last time I was in The Tolgate on my first trip home from Sydney after 5 years away. Yvonne the barmaid saw me walk in and had a pint of Tankard on the bar waiting for me. "Haven't seen you for a while" she said "No. Been working away" I replied.

 

The Gate was still there but Yvonne was long, long gone now.

 

I walk the familiar walk to the grim high stone wall and the double bay windows that was King Mojo. I was there for a brief period during it's short, turbulent life. I get a sudden urge to give Pete a call and start rehearsing my intro. But he's changed his number again. . .

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Hello Downsunder, It could be worse. You could be over 50 and out of work still stuck in Sheffield!!!! Cheers

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