Originally published in Highway to Hele: A Torquay United Fanzine, 2017.
You’d think it takes a certain level of organisational competence to edit an award-nominated fanzine for over two years. That’s why you might be surprised to learn, Dear Reader, that it’s 7am on the morning of the Football Supporters’ Federation Awards, and I’m in Tesco Extra in Digby, shopping for a pair of smart shoes among broken down cardboard boxes and insomniacs browsing for nothing in particular. Having realised surprisingly recently that I do not possess such awards ceremony essentials, and optimistically seeking a second opinion from my girlfriend the previous evening, it is resoundingly apparent that my standard issue Vans slip-ons do not count as smart, and so I opt for a slightly clingy brown pair. We’d better win tonight.
Half an hour later I’m at Exeter Bus Station, cold and sober. A fate worse than death. I’m waiting for HTH writer Dom Roman, who’s accompanying me on a Megabus adventure to the big city. We (Highway to Hele) have been shortlisted for the ‘Fanzine of the Year’ award by the Football Supporters’ Federation. Which is nice. In truth, this is an award that I have been keeping tabs on since it became apparent to me that such a category even existed. It became a sort of beacon for me to try and steer the zine towards, although given the quality of the competition I never expected us to get here so soon.
Dom and I have booked a room at a pretty low-budget establishment that is just a stone’s throw away from our eventual destination – the swanky St Pancras Renaissance Hotel. We check in around lunchtime and opt to hop on the Tube up to the pits of Camden, a place I am very much familiar with but Dom is keen to check out. After a pint and a bit of a meandering route through the T-Shirt sellers and dodgy tattoo dens, I divert the touring party via one of my favourite record shops, the unassuming All Ages. If you’re in the area, I recommend it, but it’s fair to say it harbours quite a specialist offering of punk and hardcore records. We wander back and grab another pint at The World’s End, one of my favourite pubs in the area, and witness a man with absolutely no regard for health and safety put up a Christmas Tree on top of a bar. We head back to our hotel and change into our gladrags. The main event is almost upon us.
Inside the Renaissance, we follow our noses and end up in a largely empty room with free alcohol and some nuts. We loiter awkwardly. We thought we had arrived fashionably late, but it turns out fashionably late is just too early these days. The room soon fills, and Dom recognises a one Mr John Cadigan, whose voice you may be familiar with as provider of analysis to BBC Radio Devon during TUFC games. He has, of course, also written for HTH in the past so it’s good to put a face to a name and have a quick chat with John and his colleague – who are also up for an award with the radio show they work on.
We move through to the room in which the ceremony is to be held, taking note of our allocated table. We are sat next to the lads from The Anfield Wrap, a Liverpool podcast and blog site that Dom is already familiar with. Apparently Dom is a bit more in tune with who people are than I am. It’s a good table to be sat on, as the chaps are excellent company and end up scooping a couple of awards during the night. Suffice to say, this is not their first rodeo.
We are also positioned next to a slightly older man who has a lot to say. He claims he is basically the only person in the country with a knowledge of both football and business practices. Sure. He uses this incredibly specialist knowledge to devastating effect on Sky Sports News, apparently. I get the impression that he expects us to be impressed, but to be honest I just cancelled my Sky subscription and switched to BT. I don’t tell him this but later on I wish I had.
The night begins and it soon becomes apparent that the distribution of awards will not follow the sequence laid out in the accompanying booklet. Being British, we are immediately confused but politely say nothing. During breaks in proceedings, we are treated to an excellent combination of food and wine. As I have aged, I have grown to appreciate a nice warm glass of red, in much the same way as I have come to appreciate Radio 4 and the music of Queen. 17-year-old me would be devastated.
Around about halfway through the evening, the award for Fanzine of the Year is announced. A moment of sheer terror hits me as I realise that we might have to go up onto a stage, accept an award and I’ll have to pretend that I know what I’m doing. I could write paragraphs about the spectre of anxiety and its periodical reign over me but I appreciate that’s not why you have subscribed to this apparently fine publication. Part of me is genuinely hoping that we don’t have to accept any award, and although I would be over the moon to win, at this point I really am just still in shock that we’re here in the first place, and just seeing the fanzine’s name up on a screen and hearing it read aloud by a mystery voice is so completely humbling that winning doesn’t seem important.
We don’t win, of course, and the team from the Doncaster Rovers fanzine ‘Popular Stand’ are invited to approach the stage. I’ve read a few copies and I have to say, ‘Popular Stand’ is a worthy winner. No hard feelings. Heart rate returns to normal and I reach for another glass of red. Our time has come and gone, much like Noel’s House Party and Mini Disc Players.
The rest of the evening is spent making increasingly bizarre conversation with the Anfield Wrap gang and at point I recall denying that I personally purged all the Catholics from Devon. I forget why. It’s true though, I’ve never done that.
As the wine flows, Dom’s inhibitions are lowered and he approaches a man he has been telling me all evening is “definitely Riyad Mahrez”. Turns out, no it’s not Riyad Mahrez and Dom’s incorrect assertion is laughed off by a confused man in a smart suit.
Cadigan & co. lose out too – so much like in real life, no TUFC fans go home happy this evening. We finish dinner and there is time for a quick diversion past the famous ‘Spice Girls staircase’ (the video for ‘Wannabe’ was filmed here). There are five people posing for photographs, presumably they are meant to look like the aformentioned 90s pop sensations, but really they look like idiots. I tweet something deep and profound about how we’re all just wannabes and it becomes apparent that I have had enough wine and we should definitely leave.
We exit into the freezing London night and disappear back into the shadows, leaving the glitz of the FSF Awards behind us. If I was being cynical, I would point out that a fancy bash at a 5-star hotel where the tickets cost £50 (and the rooms four times that) seems a little at odds with the ethos of an organisation that spearheads a campaign called ‘Twenty’s Plenty’ for away tickets at top flight football games.
Nevertheless, we’ve enjoyed an evening in the big city and if HTH is never nominated for an award again, I will be proud to have represented all the writers and photographers of our little fanzine, and indeed our beloved Yellows, on the national stage. Even though we came home empty handed, being recognised as one of the best six independent publications in the country is a huge honour, and one that I am definitely crowbarring onto my CV.
ROB DAND 