Saturday, 14th of November, year of our Lord 1982. West Ham Away.
'I awoke this morning to the sound of my 1920s bespoke alarm clock and broke my fast with kedgiree. Travelling on the omnibus to the railway station, I met up with a tasty little crew of 10 fellow patrons of the Murderer's Arms, who were coincidentally also on their way to the game. We boarded the first train for Waterloo with minimal fuss and found the journey to be most agreeable, as I was lubricated by 6 pints of Kestrel Super.
On arrival at Waterloo, I was shocked to see a bevy of ICF waiting for us to appear. I took off my monocle as they came for us and shouted 'Egad, come and get some, you fiends!'. I clocked one fucker right in the teeth with the blackjack club I keep for such occasions. As we left the sorry vagrants in a heap on the concourse, I decided it would be a good show to micturate upon them and pinned my calling card to one chap's rump.
Travelling by First Class District Underground, me and my crew of salty gentlemen arrived at Upton Park with an hour and a half to extirpate before kickoff. We proceeded to venture down the local nuclear sub and forced one and all to imbibe gallons of Lamb's Navy Rum, with Sambuca chasers. Some time later, a regency era mahogany stool came flying trough the window of the hostelrey, showering my party in crystal and severely fucking us off. A small contingent of West Ham were the ones what done it and it was clear that they needed to be educated in the subjects of etiquette and manners. Where I come from, if a gent throws a stool at your head, it is only polite to turn it upside down and make him sit on it, along with 2 companions. I do not think they found this to be agreeable, as they made many threats against my wellbeing and that of my mother!
Our journey to the ground passed with minimum incident, as we were escorted by Her Majesty's Constabulary. Cheery locals shouted generous salutations to us as we passed by their hovels and we returned them in kind, along with bottles and half-bricks. The game was a tense affair, especuially when my good chum the Marquis of Seagullingham tried to storm the opposition's terrace sands companions. The most rapturous chant of the day came when the umpire dismissed one of our stalwart defenders, we questioned his parentage and threw sovereigns at him. It was a nil-nil draw, with more blood shed by each side than sweat and tears combined.
Post game, we returned to Waterloo via a sojourn in the West End, where we went on a knocking spree. Verily, I was upset when I ripped my finest pantaloons while I kicked in a window of Curry's on Tottenham court Road. I purloined 2 Betamax players and a ZX spectrum, but chucked them in the Thames for japes. As I sat in the swaying carriage, I thought about what a day it had been - one I would not forget. I thought as I fell asleep how West Ham would not forget it either, as they had been severely mugged off!!!
Lord Barney's stories of his Gentlemanly Hooliganism is syndicated to over 1,000 newspapers worldwide.