If you look closely you can actually see that the premeditated effort of a ‘Pitch Invasion Conga’ working its way past the majority of the stewards (and the two police dogs, “you’ve only got two dogs, TWO DOGS!”) a few minutes before the end of time. As you can see, most of the fans had stopped watching the football a long time beforehand.

The conga breaks rank past the stewards and the floodgates open.

By this point the stewards knew there was no going back. They formed a line between the tunnel and the corner to block off the away fans. Fans start to casually walk onto the pitch from the corner and the rest of the stadium.

Needless to say the players didn’t come on and do a ‘lap of honour’. Many of this lot were here for some time to come after the end of the match, as could be heard in the background of the post-match analysis on BBC Radio Derby.

NB The loyal steward still holding his position in the foreground despite the fact that there were probably more fans behind him than in front of him.

Road Kill

Yeah man, I get down with Gsus at my local TK Maxx store.

Its a turquoise blue flag with a green anarchy ‘A’ in the middle. See other photos of it in the Glastonbury galleries here, here, here, here and here.

Anyway, that’s by the by. This is a quick note to say thank you to the young lady that came up to me in Tramp last night and called me a geek. Apparently we’d done Ancient Philosophy together last year and I was in her tutorial group although my memory is a little hazy on the matter. Her’s, however, was pretty sure I was a class A nerd. In fact she was so convinced that when I spoke to her boyfriend a little later on he said that he’d come and sat in on one of our lectures and she’d deliberately pointed me out as the swot from her class.

Why am I so appreciative of these derogatory comments? Well the young lady in question had seen me last night at Sex With Robots at the Roadhouse, a club night which is definitely far from the main stream. They take Justice’s Waters of Nazareth and make it even glitchier; to the extent that I’m sure to some ears would make the combination of squeaks, bleeps and distortion an insult to the term music, but to my post-exam ‘in need of a dance’ brain made me want to glue the side of my head to the speaker with out regard of the life long tinnitus I would suffer as a consequence. I was pointed out to the aforementioned boyfriend, I assume with a certain amount of surprise and bewilderment, as that ‘geek’ – yes the one who seems to be staring at the wall stomping his feet and pounding the air with his fist.

But then to have seen me again at Tramp the following night performing a similarly unoriginal selection of dance moves was enough to compel my Aristotelian study partner to say hello. I’m not really sure what the conclusion to this small set of events is, if anything, I think I just enjoy smashing stereotypes – just like the “he’s dancing like a pillhead, he must be a pillhead” one. On the other hand I think it highlights the fact that two people who would otherwise have never spoken or made an attempt to get on because of respective first impressions, can have a common interest in a medium which breaks all boundaries and transcends stereotypes.

And Diplo was fucking class.

http://www.myspace.com/diplo

NB Sweaty t-shirt? Man boobs jiggling up and down to the beat? Raw nipples.