you decided to head north
met up with some brit/pol/ lads along the way
took the long way around Manchester but even then you were moving a mile a day at best
camping out along hedgerows with a tarp wrapped around you
you slept in the seat of a heavy goods vehicle on the construction site of a newbuild estate
the lad said Bolton footy stadium was where he and a few others were settling in
rain, hail, strong wind that blew you this way and that
you saw the stadium in the distance
fires in Bolton, thick plumes of black smoke
car alarms still going off, burglar alarms in the industrial estate
no sign of anyone
it's just you and a few lads squatting on the side of a railway line deciding whether to chance it
go up at dusk so if it turns bad you can at least scatter and hide and hope a couple of you make it
sneaking up
some parked cars but not many
one of you goes ahead from car to car
there's one of them moving around along the road, irritable
the lad who volunteers disappears
you keep looking over at where he was
he reappears and waves one arm half-heartedly in the air
"fuck lads"
you all go over there one at a time
there isn't much cover but dusk is approaching
there's a slim door open for you
an entrance gate to one of the stands
you get in and the door closes
you walk in line along a dark narrow passageway and end up in the stands
on the field a few tents are set up
you walk along the the stands and then up to one of the VIP boxes
the lad from brit/pol/ greets you and introduces you to some other lads who are vaping
you take off your gear and eat the rest of your Pringles
the sky gets dark, a cold wind is blowing
raining heavily by nightfall
you're lying on six red-and-gold event chairs pushed together in a small VIP box
it's hammering down and the wind is howling and your head is sticking out of your sleeping bag but you're warm in there and you've just eaten a whole Terry's Chocolate Orange