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Things haven't been too clever at Thomas Towers lately so as Burnley headed south to Watford to try and reduce the gap, we headed east to the coast for the first Hornsea International Pie Tasting Festival and a pick me up.
With the squad presumably tucked up for an early Friday night, ours was spent in The Victoria, a place of good pub food and Friday night music from one of the damned good bands that belt out blues music for fun made up of an electrician, a North Sea gas worker, a teacher and a guy who worked shifts in a factory. Down at Ronnie Scotts you'd pay a fortune to see bands not much better. The gammon and eggs was pretty good too.
Don't know where the squad stretched their legs on Saturday morning but we strolled round the prom in the drizzle. The North Sea waves thundered in, smashing into the shingle, spray splashing up 20 feet or so, the chocolate coloured water looking enough to put you off a dip in the briny forever. A little way on the Prom at the opposite end to the obligatory caravan park there's one of those old café/kiosks that now dishes out breakfasts and bacon sarnies. For some reason it's called Huckleberry's. While the team presumably ate sparingly and sensibly we had large baps heaving with bacon, egg, tomato, sausage and mushrooms. Well, you have to cheer yourself up don't you? The fun is eating it outside under the canopy getting sprayed and slowly losing all feelings in feet and fingers. Somehow subjecting yourself to this masochistic punishment you convince yourself that you have earned a 2,000 calorie breakfast.
Thoughts of the game kicked in about 12 ish. Watford away, a dreadful pitch (during the week used as an allotment), our poor away record, the top six pulling away, three points therefore essential; on a scale of ten, optimism levels somewhere around 5. Back to the house, the log and coal fire blazing away, SKY Soccer Saturday switched on which is OK but for the appallingly gruesome Paul Merson who continually interrupts everything and everybody with his cries of ooh… aah… oh no Jeff… ee shudda scored Jeff… or … unbelievable Jeff. He really does need telling to shove a sock down his cakehole. Even Andy Gray would be preferable.
1-0… 1-1… 2-1… 3-1… brilliant result, Stelling mentioning Eagles several times and later on how nice to see us benefit from an og just as daft as any of the pantomime goals Burnley have given away over the years - enough to make a BFC Christmas DVD. Previously it was the ball ricocheting off the back of Darren Moore's head that fell kindly in the Port Vale cup game, this time it was a superb 25 yarder rebound off the back of a defender that slammed straight back into the net. And then second half, it was the Chris Eagles show with a few glimpses in the 3seconds that comprised the BBC highlights later on. A neat one two with Iwelumo left him with two men to nip in between before poking it home, and then a neat cross for Iwelumo to head home. Worryingly, with the Cardiff away game just three days away, the Watford goal was not flattering at all to Carlisle, Mears and Grant.
Boy did the pies taste better after the win from the selection of nine we had on offer from the local pie shop. Does the team bus stop at a chippy on the way home we wondered? A bottle of Lanson first and then a couple of bottles of bargain price Sauvignon from the Coop; but are you supposed to have red with pies? We weren't that bothered having had several scoops as the scores came in. Pie of the night was undoubtedly the Corned Beef Slice; bottom came the Minced Steak Pie, but all with a garni of mash and mushy peas. Goal of the day was Rooney's in the Manchester derby but Eagles' wasn't that bad either. The Sundays raved over Rooney's goal as if nobody had ever scored one like it. Fletcher's at Leeds nearly 40 years ago was just as good. But I suppose if you score such a goal at old Trafford on SKY then it must instantly be the greatest goal ever seen.
Sunday how nice it is to buy the papers from the shop down the High Street after a good win. Hornsea the quintessential small English seaside town in winter; drab, grey, cold, wet, treeless, struggling chip shops, empty tearooms and cafes, sad looking seafront b&bs that need a lick of paint. A Table Top Sale in the Floral Hall, the cafeteria filled with people thawing out and eating scones. Facing the sea a retirement home with the front conservatory lined with chairs, half of them occupied by the elderly. My Uncle Arthur is elderly. Don't mock, he says, you'll be old yerself one day. I peered in through the retirement home windows and looked at the old dears nodding off and thought that could be me one day. I just hope they let me wear my claret shirt at dinner time.
But a surprising number of people were braving the elements battling against the wind and rain, pushing prams, walking dogs, well wrapped up and looking enviously at the Thomas party x 4 once again having energy-filled bacon and egg baps at the same seafront kiosk as the day before. I just happened to have my Burnley scarf on.
All that spoiled the weekend were the scores coming in on Saturday with Burnley about to catch up 2 points on three of the teams above and things looking good. But as all the games came to an end, one by one three of the teams above us converted draws to wins with annoyingly late goals - Norwich, Cardiff and Swansea. Leeds won again, so the magnificent Burnley win did nothing to close the points gap. But even so, seventh place looked good, until a slick Leicester beat a desperately poor Derby, at the newly named Lack of Pride Park.
Yet another away game at Cardiff next and a win would be miraculous we thought. A defeat in fact would be infuriating for this would be to a club that is in fact very much subsidised by the Premier League when you add up the players that are on loan, and whose wages are made up by the likes of Arsenal, Wigan and Manchester City. If ever a club illustrated the abuse of the loan system then it is surely Cardiff City. But the rules don't stop them. Surely if they miss out on promotion this season this club will implode.
The big man Iwelumo was relishing his return to Cardiff. Stoke, when he played for them beat Cardiff in a play-off semi-final. "I'm hated down there," he said. It was in 2002 at the old Ninian Park. Trouble kicked off between the fans so that the team and Stoke fans were held back for 4 hours. Old Bob Lord's maxim was that if you get a better quality stadium you get better quality supporters. Cardiff may well be the exception to the rule. He and Chris Eagles by the time of the game were contesting the leading scorer slot, both in double figures. It was reasonable to assume that if both of them hit the 20 mark by the end of the season, promotion might be on. It emerged that the club had listened to offers for Iwelumo in January.
But neither of them scored in this game though Eagles kept trying from about 50 yards out each time. Of course it had to be ex Cardiff man Steven Thompson who scored the equaliser in a deserved 1 - 1 draw. Merson on SKY said Burnley were the better side. Cardiff manager Dave Glum blamed the referee describing him as the worst all season. You can be absolutely certain that when Cardiff don't win, or suffer some kind of setback or disappointment the other side will get no credit. This was a damned good point and those who went awarded high marks to everyone.
We had the Phil Bird commentary on the web, and watched Milan v Spurs with the sound off. It was hard to decide who was going to have the first heart attack, Phil Bird, Gattuso or Joe Jordan. Phil does get a bit beside himself but good for him, he does a damned good job, just a fan like the rest of us who does this on top of his day job and travels hundreds of miles to do this.
But Gattuso: I know this is a Burnley diary but about this guy what can you say; "Just because you're losing," probably. I can't remember in any game ever seeing a guy lose the plot to the extent that this animal did. Him and Crouch, him and the referee, him and Joe Jordan, during the game, after the game, it never stopped. Did he not know that to threaten Joe Jordan really was dicing with death? I saw Jordan play many times. Just the sight of him in a game when he took his teeth out and was baring his gums would be enough to send Superman running. Battles between him and Colin Waldron were earth-shuddering. So during the game he shoved Jordan in the face; surely a red card? After the game he threatened Jordan again and although it was more threat than substance, it was nevertheless a head-butt; surely a red card? Milan in general were a disgrace and the Flamini tackle that put the Spurs lad out was a shocker. Jordan's restraint was admirable although he did throw a few snarls at Gattuso. 40 years ago he'd have put Gattuso in hospital without a second thought.
I had to feel a bit sorry for Glen Hoddle. He described the floundering Torres thus: "When it's not going for you, it's not going for you. It's come off his chest, his knee and his toe, like the Chinese player Knee Shin Toe." He then had to apologise in case he had caused offence. Years ago when Francis Lee at Man City was banging goals in for fun he scored a hatful of penalties one season. He was dubbed Lee One Pen and nobody batted an eyelid.
But back to Burnley: You couldn't help but feel at the final whistle after a battling display like that, that a top six place was on again with it going right to the wire and the last two games - Leeds away and Cardiff at home, how tasty. After the point at Cardiff it was 47 points from 31 games, exactly the same as the promotion season.
QPR still top and Preston still bottom. I didn't share the glee over the weekend at Preston's plight. Surely better a derby against Preston than a trek to Brighton or Bournemouth in February?