(Every Friday we raid the Cutter vaults to bring you a story from our archives. Today we go back to September 1981, the morning after a shock England defeat.)
The whole of England awoke this morning to discover that it wasn’t just a bad dream after all. Their side had indeed succumbed 2-1 last night to little-fancied Norway in Oslo to seriously dent their World Cup qualification hopes.
Much worse was to follow for Mrs Joyce Trumper from Aldershot as the final whistle blew and her annoyed husband got up to take an angry piss. It emerged that Bjorge Lillelien, the Norwegian commentator, a man who has never set foot on this sacred isle, knows more about British history than she does.
A clearly mortified Mrs Trumper explains, ‘We were tuned into a Scandinavian channel because my hubbie works for the army out there and that’s where we bought our set from. Trevor stormed out when the game finished, muttering something about Ron Greenwood’s tactics, leaving me to hear Mr Lillelien’s bizarre diatribe on my own. He started mentioning all these people I was either vaguely aware of or had simply never heard of before.’
Mrs Trumper this morning
‘I called out to Trevor as he urinated furiously in the bathroom next door and asked if Lord Beaverbrook was a jeweler. He quickly came back in with a very concerned look on his face.’
The conversation that ensued revealed the true depths to her ignorance.
‘I obviously know who Lady Di is. That girl is going to be so happy with her charming prince and will, of course, be our Queen one day. And Henry Cooper was a left-back for Leeds wasn’t he? As for Lord Nelson….well, I know he owns a pub in town but I never venture in there as it’s a bit too ‘spit and sawdust’ for my taste.’
The Cutter has kindly donated a set of Encyclopedias to the rather stupid lady whilst her distressed husband was said to be as ‘sick as a Norwegian Blue’.
‘The result was embarrassing enough – if Wilkins passes it sideways one more time I’m going to forcibly shove a crab up his arse – but now this…’ he intoned sadly, ‘I hardly dare leave the house in shame’
