Lending to the theory that cheats never prosper, I took a trip to watch Reading play at Peterborough last night and I got my just rewards on an evening when nothing went to plan. Horrendous traffic on the M3 around the M25 and all the way up the A1 meant that George and I arrived about forty five minutes before kick off, just enough time to get bored to death by some oddball Peterborough fan whose daughter once played for Tottenham Ladies FC. After we escaped his clutches, it was a quick stop at the KFC for some regurgitated mess that was only fit for consumption because no other food had not passed my lips since midday. Who eats that shit on a regular basis? It is extraordinarily awful.

Can you spot me? Look out for a bald head featuring a miserable face.

Struggling against indigestion off the of back of fizzy keg bitter and plutonium fed chicken, we got in the ground and took our place among fans who sung songs about stabbing  Swindon Town supporters followed by attention seeking ditties about heart attack victim Fabrice Muamba of  Tottenham Hotspur, neither of which had any relevance to the game. The more moronic elements of the Reading support are craving for a rival team to share mutual hatred with, but the fact is no other teams are interested. Swindon and Oxford are two divisions below and are far too busy hating each other to bother with Reading, whilst ancient industrial disputes and the theft of dockland business have given Portsmouth and Southampton ample reason to detest each other. To them, Reading are an insignificance up in Berkshire somewhere. To find true renewed hatred Reading need Aldershot to get promoted a few times, they hate Reading, though I am not sure why…probably an ancient row about the site of a biscuit factory or something.

I noted later that the Reading FC Facebook page commended the Royals fans for showing class by chanting the name of  Fabrice Muamba in support of his recovery…call me Mr Picky, but singing “We hate the Swindon so we stab them” followed by “Fabrice Muamba, Fabrice Muamba, Fabrice Muamba” hardly oozes class, not in my book anyway. I can hardly imagine the Bolton manager (Owen Cole) visiting Muamba in hospital and saying:

“Hope you are doing well, by the way the Reading fans were chanting your name last night in between expressing their desire to stab some Swindon fans for no other reason than that they share part of the M4 motorway, isn’t that nice, they showed real class there.”

“Aaah that’s nice, cheers gaffer, that’s made me feel much better….hey  look, I can move my arm now!

I can’t help think that many of the fans were disappointed that Muamba lived, it denied them of observing a minutes silence/applause before they could sing about stabbing Swindon fans.

As for the game itself, Reading, after a decent start, were torn to pieces by a Peterborough United side who appeared to be pumped up and ready to give us a good hiding, something that was narrowly avoided in a 3-1 defeat that could have been a lot worse. We retreated to our car and spent the next three hours driving through night time roadworks with lights flashing all over the place, at one point I thought I had taken a wrong turning and driven in to a fun fair, all that was missing was some Romany Gypsy shouting “HOLD TIGHT, HOLD TIGHT…..EXTRA RIDE THIS TIME…DON’T LEAVE THE RIDE UNTIL THE CAR STOPS.”

The M25 and M3 were no better, featuring some of the most dramatic last second contraflows I have witnessed on British roads and enough disco lights to light up Stringfellows, it was death defying stuff fit for a James Bond movie, still, at least it kept me awake for the rest of the journey. If you were awoken by a loud scream at about midnight, it was me when a tarmac lorry pulled in front of me on a one lane contraflow at around 4mph just north of Farnborough.

I got home at 1pm and took some paracetamol to ease a headache that felt like someone pushing a hot knitting needle through the back of my skull and out of my left eye.

Is that punishment enough? I promise not to cheat again!