We are going up, say we are going up! TUFC heading for Division 2!

So, bleary-eyed and hungover, I dragged myself to Liverpool Street, got a ticket, bought some food, got on train, got off at Prittlewell, followed people going to the ground as I didn't know where it was, paid 16.50 (exorbitant!) to get in, and waited. I tried very hard to ignore the Cheeky Girls, who were doing a pre-match show wearing what I can only describe as a couple of small handkerchiefs. Hardly suitable attire for a miserable grey afternoon, but I guess this was Essex and there were some girls waiting at a station on the way home who weren't wearing much more.

At 3.03pm, Alex Russell swung in a corner, Steve Woods volleyed it home, and we were 1-0 up. Cue jubilant scenes in the away end. At 3.11pm, Jo Kuffour went on a mazy run in the penalty area, pulled the ball back, and David Graham, leading scorer par excellence, scored with a low header. 2-0, and we're in heaven. At 3.16pm, Huddersfield scored at Cheltenham, and at 3.17pm, our 'keeper spilled a weak shot and Southend scored from the follow-up. 2-1, with three quarters of the match to go, and even if we did hold on, it was going to be academical if Huddersfield went on to win anyway.

Half time came, and still no change. I had a hot-dog: more stodge; and a terribly watery, not-very-satisfying Diet Pepsi. A little way into the second half, a rumour went through the away end: Cheltenham had equalised, which meant we were going up after all! It was only a rumour, though, soon quashed. We had to wait a lot longer for the genuine article, but when it came, with the score still 2-1 (and Southend piling on the pressure, having already had an equaliser disallowed for offside), the scenes of jubilation were, if not second-to-none, but certainly as, well, jubilant as I've ever seen at a Torquay match. at 16:48, with the Huddersfield score confirmed as 1-1, and with two minutes left to play, we were on edge. Every time Southend got the ball, we had horrible visions of them scoring, and taking away our dream at the last gasp.

We held our collective breaths.

The two minutes ticked by, our eyes on the ref with his eyes on his watch, waiting for him to put his whistle to his mouth.

The ref blew for full time.

We jumped for joy, shouted, clapped, cheered, tried to run on the pitch, mobbed Liam Rosenior (the manager's son, who plays on the right wing) when he came too close, scrambled for boots thrown into the crowd by players, and eventually were allowed onto the pitch to salute and cheer the manager, Leroy Rosenior.

We were up, we'd done it, we'd snatched third place, sweet revenge on Huddersfield after they cheated us out of a point earlier in the season.

Then back on the train to Liverpool Street. One supporter had managed to get hold of Kevin Hill's shorts - she was wearing them over her jeans - goodness knows how. It's still sinking in. It's a great feeling. After so much disappointment - notably the '97-98 campaign that ended in a play-off final defeat, after the pains of the 2000-01 season and the final match of the season against Barnet - my local club - where Football League status was at stake for both clubs, to finally achieve promotion was brilliant.

Disturbing visions

So, today was a day of two halves... after rising at half past nine and doing nothing but play X2: The Threat until 1pm, I finally hauled my ass out of the flat and made it down to Caffe Nero opposite Starbucks near Virgin on Oxford Street, where I found elethe waiting patiently, the only Zokutou member yet present at the day's meeting.

We chatted, I ate lunch of a meatball & mozerella ciabatta and crisps, and pondered just who, and when, anyone else would turn up. It wasn't until gone three that verlaine, bluedevi, and sparktastic joined us, whereupon we chatted a little longer before browsing round Virgin, (not) Waterstones*, and ambling down Charing Cross Road for a couple of drinks in The Spice of Life, a pub I've never been in but which is quite pleasant, just off Cambridge Circus.

It was there that the conversation first turned to porn, and it was during our meal in a Thai restaurant on Great Compton Street - a very pink Thai restaurant - that it turned to slash fiction, and I had the disturbing vision that contributes the title of this post. Let's just say, I proposed characters for slash that were both hilarious, and led to great potential at the same time. (Then we moved on to politician slash, which was just plain wrong, wrong, I tell you!)

Anyway, if at some point I start writing stories about the sexual angst of giant robots who can turn themselves into cars, planes, guns, and other mechanical devices, you know where and when I got the idea, and the company I was in when it came to me.

* (Not) Waterstones. I failed to leave Virgin with the rest of the crowd, and head across the street to Waterstones. I'd been sidetracked into the games department of Virgin, where I purchased a shiny new joystick. I was leaving Virgin when I spotted I had a voicemail, which turned out to be from bluedevi, explaining where they were. Anyway, just as I looked across Oxford Street towards the aformentioned bookshop, there were the four of them coming out. Spooky Moment Of The Day.