What a day!I arrived in Stoke just after midday. Police were advising the Pompey fans to get to the ground as quick as possible and avoid the town. I was happy enough with this as I wanted to meet up with other supporters and not spend my time dodging baseball bats in the town. I plucked up my courage and approached three rather well lubricated lads. (They are the ones with the beers on the right) I explained that I was a fellow Pompey supporter and I was happy to pay for a cab if they wanted a ride. They agreed and instantly set off in the other direction to the taxi rank. I explained that the taxi rank was the other way, but Rich (Second Left) informed me they had no intention of going to the ground yet and that we would find a local pub to drink in. Ok, that's fine I thought. Safety in numbers. I'll leave them to dodge the baseball bats and I'll run. After just over a mile, it was clear that this was neither the way to the town, or the way to the ground, we were in no mans land. It was at this point that Rich decided to ask me how long I had been a fan. "A week" I weakly explained, while making a move for the imaginary exit. "Cool" he said, and that was that!Eventually we gave up on the pub idea and made our way to the Harvester pub by the ground, via the taxi rank that we'd been at half an hour earlier. I used this time to update my three new friends with the details of my project. Rich explained that he and his two friends had travelled up from Newton Abbot in Devon. They'd had a heavy night in Exeter and caught the first train in the morning. So far they'd had one beer for every hour they had been awake (and they didn't sleep on the train on the way up, I checked)Once in the Harvester I met up with a few others who Rich had last met in Wolfsburg, during Pompey's Uefa Cup exploits. Dave and his son Joe follow Pompey home and away without fail. They'd been to the Portugal, the Far East and even Nigeria. Dave lives in Norfolk and his friends (Neil, Big Al, Richy Joe and Richy)were from The Midlands, London and Surrey. Soon I was met by another Rich (Pictured Below), who thank God preferred to go by the name of Richard. (So far I've met a Rich, two Richy's and a Richard) It turns out that the Southampton fan that e-mailed me to say "Why would you want to go all the way to Stoke with that bunch of Dicks" had been quite profound 
Richard had just travelled down from Blackpool to Stoke, but he lives in Worcestor (and obviously supports Portsmouth) . . . you still with me?Richard was dissapointed I didn't get to see Slumdog Millionaire the other day, so had kindly brought along a copy on a disc (A perfectly legal-ish copy I'm sure) How good is that! It looks like I am going to see Slumdog Millionaire after all!Soon I was in the ground soaking up the atmosphere and it wasn't long before I bumped into John "Portsmouth Football Club" Westwood.
I'll be honest, I was scared of approaching him, and although he looks like he's just about to punch me, I can assure you he didn't. I bumped into him again later (as you can see from the picture at the bottom of this post)
During the game I stood next to a guy called John. A Portsmouth fan who lives in Stoke (Well thats what he told me anyway) John was pretty drunk. I wasn't completely convinced he actually realised he was at the game. He spent a lot of time on the phone, smoking. I get the feeling he may have been thinking it was a particularly Big Pub Telly. He was however shouting at the right moments, swearing at Crouch a lot and had offered to show me one of his Pompey Tattoo's, so I was happy to be in his company, even if he did keep asking me to pass the nuts.
At half time I had an awkward moment when I had to make a decision on what to eat. There were four different flavoured pies, Luckily Chloe (The girl who worked behind the counter)informed me that the only pie they had was Meat and Potato, so that's what I had. I'm still not sure exactly what Meat it was by the way.
Due to a monumental cock up on my behalf, I had to leave the ground 15 minutes early to catch my train, which meant I missed ALL FOUR GOALS. This has made me more certain than ever that I need to relinquish all decision duties.
I ended up paying Ali(My Taxi Driver)an extra £3 so I could listen to the end of the game in his car and went crazy when portsmouth scored the equalizer. That particular moment came back to haunt me when I opened my can of coke on the train ten minutes later.
So there we have it, 200 miles, 6 pints of fizzy yellow stuff, a Mcdonalds, a meat pie and 4 goals (which I missed)
PLAY UP POMPEY!
The results are in. Lemon and Sugar won in the end by a clear margin. Thanks for helping me Decide.
Normally, this wouldn't be too much of a problem. I'd get through it, undo a couple of buttons on my jeans and wait for the burning and the nausea to subside. Unfortunately last night this wasn't possible. I had pancakes to make!
After I'd undone another button on my jeans, I went for it. I just tipped the rest of the mixture into the middle of the pan. It just kept going! There was enough for another two at least. I was however at the point of no return, so I went with it. 
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