Renowned hedonist and Swindon’s 54th most eligible bachelor 2002, Wild Al, went to London hoping to see Town pick up three points against the odds. They didn’t but he found inspiration in defeat.

It’s not been a great time to be a Town fan, not since I was turned down by five members of the same family, in quick succession, have I seen a disappointing run like it. Then like now, it’s all very disappointing; I thought the Gran at least was a sure thing.

But, like the rest of her clan, rather than matters of the heart, she seemed far more interested in why a man brandishing a half-drunk bottle of Baileys and dressed in nothing but reindeer antlers and an adult nappy, had gatecrashed their Christmas day dinner. I didn’t have an answer then and I’ve not got one now

And so with, I’m sure we can agree, with the scene was very much set, it was off to Millwall!

Hoping that, like the clearly tooled up Pearly Queen we met on the Old Kent Road before kick off, this makeshift Swindon side would finally show some steel beneath their sparkle.

First up. Kudos to my fellow Town fans who made the journey. It’s easy, after all, to party when times are good.

Anyone can start a beano in an office, the Friday before a Bank Holiday, armed with little more than a Bluetooth speaker, a Now Dance 98 CD,  a crate of Babysham and the phone number of a couple of Foxy employees willing to do outcalls.

Anyone can. And should

A point I made at my last, in both sense of the word, disciplinary hearing at my old job.

What takes skill, is getting it going when the atmospheric conditions are not favourable. Take my homie, DJ Trev, he recently commandeered, without consent, a DJ booth in the Wanborough Harvester at 12pm on a Tuesday and dropped, at ear-splitting volume, ‘Oops Upside Your Head’.

The family of the bloke whose wake it was have yet to thank him for livening things up, but grief can make you lose you manners. So no hard feelings on our part.

Anyway, while boisterous, numbers in the away end did seem down compared to Towns usual trips to the London, or Swindon’s Most Easterly Suburb to give it its legal name.

To put it into context, only four members of the Whistle Posse showed up, the lowest number for an away game in the capital since a trip to Brentford clashed with Darude doing a PA in Oceana Bristol.

However, I don’t believe the more modest than usual support was entirely down to Swindon looking less likely to pick up points than a (RON, CAN YOU ASK SAM MORSHEAD TO FINISH THIS METAPHOR? HE’S NOT GOT A LOT ON, AND I’M NEARLY AT THE FRONT OF THE BAR QUEUE)

I believe fewer Town fans made the trip to the New Den, as South London has lost one of it’s cultural gems. A destination that always applied balm to the wound of any harrowing away defeat.

Yes, The Queen Anne in Vauxhall is no more. For those of you pretending not to know what I’m talking about, I speak of course of that delightful saloon, near the Oval Cricket Ground, where the female employees would, in exchange for some small change, convivially de-robe to rhythmic house music.

Some preliminary research, research incidentally that my latest ex-employers were disproportionately shirty about finding in my internet history, revealed there are other options if you like this sort of thing. But I was put off when I learned these rival establishments expect you to put a pound in the lovely ladies’ pint pot, not the customary 50p!

I know London prices are said to have gone mad but I never thought merciless monetarism would ever spread to people who take their kit off for a living.

I’m starting to worry that these strippers are only in it for the cash, not the love of their craft.

Anyway. The Queen Anne, I discovered when I went to lay a wreath before the match, is now a Craft and Coffee shop.

With my customary pre-game pit-stop consigned to the top shelf of history, I needed some alternative entertainment, and so I stumbled upon a so called ‘street food market’. Quite popular in these parts.

And it was here I made a startling discovery, one that could shape my future!

It seems that just by whacking some fresh salad leaves on top of a slightly burned Iceland frozen pizza, while liberally throwing around the word ‘Artisan’, you can con posh lovelies called Harriet and Henrietta out of 10 quid a pop.

You don’t even need a shop, just get a Calor gas stove and a self consciously twee sign and you are away.

I’m starting  ‘Al’s Piss Take Pizzeria’ next week! And I’m willing to offer shares in this GUARANTEED get rich quick scheme to my fellow Town fans, so DM me on twitter if you are interested.

You’ll probably get your money back and I’ll do my upmost to shield investors from any complication relating to unfortunate hygiene or harassment legal breech’s.

To be honest I wish I’d come up with this idea last week, I’d have saved myself joining the depleted ranks of Town fans inside the New Den.

We lost Two Nil. We sung “We’re gonna win the league” when we finally had a shot on target. In the 89th minute. We were dreadful.

Wild Al @KingOfCairos