Blogging Bromsgrove

Would you believe it - a Bromsgrove Rovers blog ! Particularly good news at present as the club are lacking - among other things such as a tall striker and a midfield general - a website.

We were there on Tuesday to see them chuck away a two-goal lead against the might of Bishops Cleeve, a Gloucestershire village side who've battled their way up through the little leagues to the heights of the Southern Midland. Very well they battled too, their seventeen-year old number 2 and their big centre-half did well. I think my eldest son may have played against their No 2 - if he played in their Cheltenham and Gloucester League team a couple of years back.

We made it down to Rodney Parade last Friday to watch the Dragons see off Premiership leaders Bristol in a cracking match. Bristol dominated but Dragons defended heroically and put points on the board every time they attacked. With advance entrance at £3 for children (it's £8 at Gloucester, or £10 on the gate) I just fill a car up with children and schoolfriends . At the end of the week I'm tired, but after jumping up and down shouting for 80 minutes I feel surprisingly refreshed and in no danger of falling asleep on the way back.

I digress. Bromsgrovian bloggers. Are there any ? This one moved to York. This one goes there for adulterous liaisons. There's always this expat Bromsgrovian. Digby Jones doesn't blog.

This lunatic thinks Bromsgrove is 'a quaint village'. He's right about the enormous ASDA carpark though. It used to be a large green field, where the fairs were held each Midsummer's Day (all children had the day off school to attend). The council sold it off.

One other person claiming to be a Bromsgrovian. The man who brought us the late lamented Trouser Quandary Resolution has moved to Little Frigging. From a cursory read the medication seems to have had no effect at all.

In the beginning, the world was without form or chip shops. Then the semi-omnipotent Skhighhibhoss said ‘let there be stoats’ and lo, only 28 days later the stoats were delivered – but to the wrong address.

After another week of increasingly frantic phone calls to various places in the delivery chain, Skhighhibhoss finally received his crate of stoats, and a credit note for £1.75 by way of compensation for his inconvenience.