COLUMN: Wild London weekend capped off by Mayo win in Big Smoke

I’VE been known to struggle with a column deadline at the best of times, but if you are reading this in the physical paper on Tuesday, it can only be attributed to some miraculous and divine intervention from Our Lady of Knock, who played a key role in the weekend.

An away trip takes its toll on most of us, but when that away weekend involves three nights in London, an average of 21,000 steps a day, an epic match day in Ruislip and an enthusiastic embracing of the city’s hospitality, the toll multiplies quickly, before you even count the dawn commute to the airport.

I think it’s safe to say some of us are a bit shook.

But regrets, we have too few to mention. 

This trip arrived smack-bang in the middle of a house move for me, so several days of carting boxes from old to new abode, painting and assembling furniture meant I wasn’t match-fit even prior to departure.

It had been a week of delays by plumbers and electricians and floorers, but championship waits for no woman. Fortunately, like Andy Moran’s men, everyone got the job done eventually. 

I’m unsure if it was the discombobulation of the move and the associated tiredness, or whether I have simply entered the dreaded peri-menopausal phase of life, but I can only describe myself as being all over the place for the entire weekend

While I’m notorious for my forgetfulness and tendency to get easily confused on a regular day, I can safely say that had I not had a team of minders around me, I would still be wandering around London looking for misplaced belongings.

And in doing so, going the wrong way at every single opportunity. 

ACHILL AND INISKEA

Three of our little crew of six had departed two days previously, to sample the delights of the city, and the youngest party member and his parents had already enjoyed the Pixar Experience, the Harry Potter Experience and Paddington Experience before we three reached the house we were sharing, near Wembley.

The Ruislip Experience had a fair bit to live up to after those.

BoxPark beside Wembley Stadium was our first port of call on Friday night.

It’s a huge venue with an assortment of small, independent street food traders, offering dishes from all over the world. We plumped for an assortment of Mexican, Italian and Thai food before turning our noses towards the Oxford Arms in Camden, owned and run by Bohola native Tom Maloney, his wife Anne, and family.

Midwest Radio was broadcasting live and the place was wedged, with one patron from Swinford quipping that instead of queuing to get into the toilets, he had to queue to get out.

It had been nearly ten years since our last visit, and we met people from Mayo we are certain we hadn’t seen since the last time we were there.

The beauty of these trips is really in the connections you make and the nostalgia you share. And the things you overhear.

Behind me, I heard someone from Achill heartily extolling the virtues of the beautiful Iniskea Islands to a bemused-looking fella from London, who had only been wondering why his normally sedate Friday night local had been overrun by about five thousand maniacs dressed in green and red.

“The Iniskeas the closest thing you’ll get to the Caribbean, man”, he proclaimed, getting into character. “They’re one of the most stunning places on the planet”.

(No arguments there, even if the weather is distinctly un-Caribbean like.) “Put them on your list,” says he. They’re just off the coast of Achill”. I’m not sure what the good people of Blacksod would have to say about that.

BEER TENTS

Because we have finally discovered maturity (and are unable to handle the effects of either late nights or excessive consumption, let alone both simultaneously) we were on our way back to Wembley, pizza slices in hand, by the time the clock struck midnight. 

I awoke on Saturday morning to the strains of “Lady of Knock” blaring out of one of the downstairs bedrooms. It’s never any harm to keep her onside. The chef of the house had the fry ready bright and early, and we made our way out to Ruislip. 

The ticket shortage drama that accompanies every game like this had well abated, and we actually found ourselves with the headache of trying to offload extras.

We also found that the set-up at McGovern Park was vastly different to that of a decade ago. In 2016, there was one event marquee. On Sunday, there were four, and all four were hopping.

The pitch and grounds, recently redeveloped, were immaculate, and an army of security and stewards were working overtime to ensure they stayed that way.

Still though, they didn’t manage to snare everyone. For a place that wasn’t letting in any drink, the bemused volunteers cleaning up the stand wondered how they still had so many cans to pick up. 

NO DRAMA OR INJURY

There is such a sense of fun and occasion at these events, and you could feel the pride emanating from London GAA in both the venue and the hospitality offering.

The hum of conversation and music was audible from behind the far goal, and as we departed around 7pm, the party was only getting started. Ten years ago, we’d stuck it out ‘til the end, but these things are best left to the young people and the older people, reliving their youth.

It is to our relief that the match itself barely merits a mention, aside from the fact that despite London acquitting themselves admirably – particularly the lads from Mayo – and our lads apparently rabid for two-pointers, Mayo got the job done, without drama or injury.

That’s all you can hope for on days like those. We hadn’t left the stand before the talk turned to the Rossies, who had decided to re-enact the infamous impromptu Mayo gathering of 2019 in Times Square.

Imitation is the best form of flattery, they say. It’s just a shame that unlike us, they had no song to sing. Let’s hope they won’t be singing on Sunday week either.

FLYING THE PLANE

We spent the most glorious Sunday in the sunshine, strolling and eating our way around the Borough and Camden Markets.

Stopping to rest our feet back in the Oxford Arms and catch the second half of Armagh v Tyrone, I realised I’d left my shopping back on the table back in the market.

Miraculously, Our Lady stuck with with me. It was still on the table when I raced back in search. On my return, I ran into a pal from home, who did his level best to tempt me to stay out for the night.

“I can’t”, I said. “We’ve an early flight.”

“Sure you’re not flying the plane”, he responded.

“That’s for the best”, came the reply from over my shoulder. “She’d leave half the passengers behind her on the tarmac!”

As I write, while dearly anticipating a nap, no belongings are missing, all of my passengers have been safely deposited home, and Mayo are unbeaten in the Championship.

Fair play to Our Lady. She’d better keep the phone off silent on Sunday week.