1# A fight with Michael Parkinson on Wembley Way

Some days, watching Cardiff City is like watching pornography. There's plenty of action, and you can't take your eyes off it, but when it's over you wonder why the hell you spent the whole afternoon doing it.

I've had plenty of those days down the years. I guess that's what makes the good times taste so good. And boy did the 6th of April 2008 taste good.

It was the day of Cardiff City's first FA Cup Semi Final in over 80 years and there was something strange in the air as I got out of bed that morning. Strange for April at least; snow had been falling throughout the early hours and the first thing I remember seeing through the window of a London hostel was a skyline sprinkled with the white stuff. Not that I was too bothered; I had a slight hangover after the previous night's festivities and the brisk April air was just what the doctor ordered.

However, what really diverted my mind from the 12 pints of Carling I'd consumed the night before was the sudden realisation that the day had finally come. The day when Cardiff City could make it to an FA Cup Final.

I'd come to London with a few mates and we did all the usual things that many Cardiff fans did that day; we stood outside The Globe in Baker Street aiming ayatollahs at Japanese tourists passing on open top buses, we got soaked in Dai Hunt's saliva as he explained how Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink would today need to play a 'deeper role', we got robbed of £7.50 for a pie and a pint inside England HQ, and we watched Joe Ledley's glorious 9th minute volley and punched the air as if oxygen was a Swansea fan.

It might have been the beer, or it might have been the sense of occasion, but I seem to remember very little about the game itself except for Ledley's winner and Kayode Odejayi's sensational miss for Barnsley. The feeling at the final whistle was immense, almost unreal, like you'd won the lottery and pulled Cameron Diaz in one go.

But back to the morning and the light coating of snow. As our hostel was quite close to Wembley we decided to go for an early morning stroll down Wembley Way. Even though an FA Cup Semi Final was due to kick off in around 8 hours time, the place was almost deserted, like a scene from the film 28 Days Later. I say almost deserted, because about 20 metres ahead of us down Wembley Way there was a group of smartly dressed gentleman with their backs to us.

Having spotted a fairly sizeable mound of snow, I just knew I couldn't resist. The first snowball I threw at the men was a pretty poor effort, about as accurate as a Steve Tucker exclusive. The second was a beauty; catching a silver haired guy right on the back of his head. As he turned around, his hair drenched and snow sliding down his jacket, I recognised him instantly; Michael Parkinson. Now I know old Parky is a Barnsley fan and I'd just caught him with a snowball but I didn't expect him to launch a counter-attack; which he did. He missed me. I think we can safely say that Cardiff City won the snowball fight.

Not only did Parky have to watch his side lose an FA Cup Semi Final that day, but he also took a snowball to the head, messing up his hair and soaking his suit in the process. All in all, he might have wished that he’d stayed at home and watched porn.

Next story will be: Eddie Johnson and the Bacon Double Cheeseburger