Julie Welch's Fangirl

I may be horribly gushing and over the top, but I have to post this screenshot because for me, at least, it was an incredibly exciting moment:

I read an interview with Julie Welch today in the Guardian newspaper. For those of you not of a certain age, not UK football fans, not female UK football fans, you may not know her name. When I was a teenager, she was one of my heroines. She was the only woman I knew of then who was a football journalist, and certainly made it possible for me to think that one day I could get my own work onto the back pages of national newspapers.

And Julie Welch wrote "Those Glory Glory Days", which I just found in its entirety on YouTube here (Since I bought it as a videocassette in the olden days, I will not feel like a thief watching it again. I still have the VHS tape, but the machine that used to play it is knackered). When I first saw this film, I realised there were others who felt like I did (only not for QPR. TV mentions of the R's in those days were by characters like "Steptoe & Son" or when discussing crims on "Minder"). It was important to know I wasn't the only one.

To be honest, I hadn't thought about Ms Welch in a few years. Then I saw her name at the top of a webpage, and clicked on the link to find out what she had to say. The occasion for the interview was the publication of her latest book:  "The Fleet Street Girls:  The Women Who Broke Down the Doors of the Gentlemen's Club" (Times review here). In the interview, she speaks well of Brian Clough, godfather to one of her sons. From my days as photographer for the U of Nottingham student paper, and one particular incident at Loftus Road the night the floodlights died, I had developed a pretty low opinion of Mr Clough. So I found @DameJulieWelch on Twitter, and sent a message:

"As a female photographer for QPR I will never forget (c. 1985) Clough in my face screaming 'Get back in the effing kitchen where you belong.' Others were mesmerised by his charm. Umm ..."

And she replied.

Indeed it was. Memories came flooding back:  the foul and abusive language of the fans, dealing with projectiles aimed at my back during the game (everything from apples to small pieces of terracing wrapped in snow to fresh urine), the hostility of stewards and the old guard of Press photographers. But also, the players were lovely, one evening the trainer got the team coach to stop and give me a lift when I'd been stranded in the rain after a European friendly, day and night R's all around Shepherd's Bush would greet me with a cheery "Awright!" and, best of all, my dad got to hear the QPR fans singing his firstborn's name in the away end at Stamford Bridge. But back to Julie Welch ...

(Warning:  here comes the gush)

It wasn't just getting a reply, it was that she also followed me. Wow. Thank you Julie Welch. Proud to have stood on your shoulders for a while (at least one of them).