Thank God it's Friday ... and thank god for the Dun Cow - a cautionary tale from Durham. Part 1

Where the week went, I’m not sure. Nonetheless, it was Sunday morning. The day dawned with a sky that felt like a cellar ceiling, all suffocating and dark, and the air cut through you like a Swiss knife passing through butter. Any unsuspecting nose would be a prime target for unwelcome dew drops, A tissue being as critical as a warm coat and bobble hat. It was February, and I was in Durham for the first time as a temporary resident.

Durham Cathedral on a cold Sunday morning

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1997 was a mostly unspectacular year, the exception being the untimely death of Princess Diana, which as we all know now, was far from inconspicuous.

Why Durham? Well, it just happened to be the meeting of two opposites.

David Boon, of Australian fame, had decided to finish his decorated career with a three-year stint in county cricket, correct – with Durham CCC. Remarkable really. The opposite was yours untruly; who, at the conclusion of the 1996 season, had been politely shown the door by Lancashire CCC. I found myself hoping to continue a serviceable career in county cricket, with, you guessed it, Durham CCC.

The two opposites morphed into equals away from cricket. Mr. Boon and I became Durham City neighbours, purely by chance.

Claypath is a beautiful part of Durham City, perched high in the North-Western quarter. Every walk into the picturesque centre was downhill, until you had to walk back! There were views across the valley to Crossgate Moor, and beyond to the hospital – where my daughter, Ella, was eventually born.

How I stumbled on that house in Douglas Villas – I’m really not sure. It felt like I had traversed the entire county of Durham looking for suitable accommodation. I knew every village and hamlet; from Shincliffe to Lanchester. Maybe it was the city person in me that brought me back to Durham — that’s Durham City. One thing is for certain, though, in hindsight, I am profoundly grateful that I did. Some credit must also go to teammate, Michael Roseberry, a Durham native. Thank you Rosey!

Returning to the aforementioned Sunday morning. What was there to do?

The removal crew had made a hasty retreat to Manchester, for reasons that will become apparent later. This was despite furniture being strewn randomly across 44 Douglas Villas, and most importantly, essentials being hidden away in unmarked boxes. The real essential was, of course, the television.

With no television, and a Sky subscription that was still attributed to a house in Manchester, I was in serious trouble. Factor in the weather, unfamiliarity with the surroundings, and a language issue – they speak a dialect I’m not familiar with – all this spelled disaster. It was the first time I felt aggrieved by the decision handed down by the suits at Lancashire CCC. How dare they!

Manchester City (MCFC, City, The Blues) were playing the early Sunday game, kicking off at one o'clock. Simple, just wander down into town, coat and tissues at the ready, and find a suitable hostelry to watch the game. A couple of pints, some food, and if my pub selection was true, a deal of good company to get me through the afternoon. The removal crew, and they should have been, the move-in crew, were, you guessed it, all Manchester City fans.

Nothing, but nothing, gets in the way of football.

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As I set off down Claypath, I can conservatively report sightings of at least half-a-dozen pubs, the first one being The Woodman – it presented like the Ugly Duckling; and I judged on face value, which was latterly rescinded by its warm hospitality – a recurring theme in this part of the world.

Onward I marched. It was still early, 45 minutes or so to kick-off, although the cold and dew drops were starting to make inroads. The market square gave me some perspective, with the cathedral and castle now peaking down. The fork in the road – upwards toward the cathedral, or down across Elvet bridge were my options. I wanted to see if the river was frozen, but it wasn't, just my nose!

The River Wear and Durham Cathedral - Durham City

Now, there was one obstacle between me and my eventual destination – The Swan & Three Cygnets. Flashbacks arrived. I had been to Durham before, as a Lancashire player, and before that for a U19 tournament. The steps leading up to the pub seemed significant. Flashbacks came and passed. And then I got it. This was the scene of an inglorious evening on that U19 trip. Although I was merely a bit player, it held too many demons. Move on young man!

As a side-note: I believe a SpeakingNick reader might have intimate knowledge of that evening. Maybe they can elaborate in the comments below!

I’m now walking East on Old Elvet and feared I had missed my calling. Signs for the Courthouse and HM Prison kept me interested. In addition, at the end of Old Elvet was the Racecourse ground where Durham CCC had previously played and was the home of Durham University cricket. Forge on Churchill said it was 15 minutes to kick-off.

The Holy Grail - Dun Cow

And then, finally, it appeared: The Dun Cow – 37 Old Elvet, Durham DH1 3HN, UK.

It was the most indistinguishable of all the pubs I had seen, yet it was the one that ignited complete curiosity. As far as I could see there was no front door. Instead, there was a stained glass bay window and a hole in the wall that looked like an entrance to a passage. After crossing the street and standing at the entrance to the passage, the infamous sliding door was in full view.

Male and female voices drifted through the well-ventilated sliding door, I could hear a television playing in the background – I wasn’t able to decipher the channel – there seemed a snugness about the surroundings, and an aroma of beer was immediately apparent. No turning back now.

This was it. Ten minutes to kick-off. I’m a Mancunian, football is in my DNA. Wait a minute, I’m also one of Durham’s key signings for the upcoming season – time will tell how insignificant this was. Walk tall Nicholas. Stride in there with purpose; paranoia circled me. Anyway, it was too cold to walk back. Howay Man, you better get in there.

So I did, and the rest is history.

I propose we pause here, and come back to the rest of the story next Friday. 

I think it’s priceless! I hope you do too. Part two next week.