Of course, once the Lord and Doctor had taught the dolphins how to talk and move about, the next logical step was teaching them to support the Wolves. We did this using a variety of stimuli, such as cuttings from the Pink, some very basic terrace anthems, and re-enactments of great goals and reckless challenges. The dolphins showed surprisingly little interest to begin with, but seemed to grow more receptive as the Wednesday evening fixture approached.

We’d met the Lord and Doctor after Saturday’s game at Hillsborough. The project having been explained to us over pints in the Old Queen’s Head, and remuneration negotiated, we headed down to the coast directly in his Silver Shadow, and began working with the animals after Mrs Jacobs had prepared us some breakfast on the Sunday morning.

It was clear that the Lord and Doctor had made strong progress with them, but their knowledge of football was poor. They found the offside rule confusing, lacked the abstract mathematical skills necessary to understand goal average, and were no more capable of getting their heads around the notion of a drawn game than the Americans we’d met in Kansas City that summer.

The brightest of the four was undoubtedly Smudge. He had taught himself to wink, read detective novels (where the other three could only navigate basic signs and the occasional Daily Mirror headline), and referred to the Lord and Doctor as ‘the debt that good breeding owes to good sense’, a joke I could not myself understand though it amused him a great deal, as he rolled it out at least twice a day, always followed by a wink and a few contented clicks. He was on very good terms with the gardener, Pollard, occasionally borrowing the seated lawnmower for pleasure rides around the grounds or trips to the nearest off-licence. While the other dolphins had hopes of integrating themselves into human society and gaining some independence through menial work, Smudge was determined to instate and rise to the rank of Supreme Ruler of All Earth Species.

After high tea on the Wednesday afternoon, we set off for the Dell, confident that, though perhaps still a little short of fanaticism, the dolphins were enthusiastic enough about football to enjoy themselves, which was the Lord and Doctor’s stated aim. ‘Going to the Wolves for the first time was a fundamental experience in my life, Gonby,’ he’d said over port on the Sunday evening, as we digested the guinea fowl Mrs Jacobs had excelled with, ‘the greatest, perhaps, of all my diverse fortunes. If I can but pass on that slice of luck to my young charges, I will consider the project a success.’ Jack and I had nodded solemnly along to this, while, from the chaise longue in the corner of the room, and without raising his eyes from his Father Brown, Smudge emitted a snort of derision quite loud enough to be heard below stairs.

We took the Range Rover, with the dolphins in the horsebox, punctuating their chants of ‘Wanderers!’ with loud flipper-blows to the metal sides. Once this had tired, Smudge began leading the choir with improvisations, such as ‘Cetaeans need libation’, ‘Are you really wearing that?’ (sung at random pedestrians) and a couple of ungenerous assessments of their guardian and his golfing ability. We left them in the horsebox during pre-match drinks at the Cricketers, though it was by now clear that at least one hip-flask had been secreted in the straw.

We got some strange looks queuing up for the turnstiles at the Milton Road End, but I have to say I felt no great prejudice towards the dolphins. Smudge was quite loud in his appraisal of the architecture and capacity of the place, and went off on some riff about hobbits and gnomes being the only species that should properly inhabit a dell. When the Lord and Doctor tried to quieten him down, however, he started up with ‘Are You Really Wearing That?’, which caught on with more than just the dolphins this time.

No dolphins

‘No dolphins,’ said the man at the turnstile – a rather nasal chap, whom the Lord and Doctor would later describe as ‘very milk-in-first’.

‘Is that a rule?’ I asked, ‘I haven’t seen any signs.’

‘There’s no sign saying “No Elephants” either, but if you had Dumbo with you, I’d use some common sense then, as well.’

‘Look, these four won’t cause you any problems,’ said the Lord and Doctor, ‘Football mad, they are.’

Jack and I exchanged nervous glances at this. They were enthusiastic at best. What if the man gave them a quiz? What if he asked them about the offside rule?

‘Listen, my good man,’ said Smudge, pushing past us, ‘you cannot bar somebody entry on account of their species. It is barbaric. Now take my four shillings and let me in.’ He turned to the Lord and Doctor, hoping, presumably, that he would slam down the coins down onto for effect. There was no time.

‘I’m not having you in here. You or…,’ he squinted over towards the other three, ‘any of your kind.’

‘Discrimination, that’s what this is,’ said Smudge, very loudly, ‘and it won’t be forgotten. The Cetacean Nation is rising, and it will not yield to the reactionary voices of intolerance and hatred. For too long, now…’

A policeman appeared and promptly took the side of the turnstile attendant, ushering the dolphins out of the queue.

‘We are members of the Cetacean Nation!’ shouted Smudge, who seemed rather satisfied with this turn of phrase (I suspect he had rehearsed it), ‘We are not subject to your human laws.’ Jack felt that this contradicted somewhat his claim to a universal code, but we agreed not to enter into the debate and instead to leave the dolphins in the capable, carefully-manicured hands of their guardian.

Though disappointed not to see the game, his wish for the dolphins to have a life-changing experience at a football ground was in some way granted, for, when we visited his estate after the match, he told us that the dolphins (along with Pollard the gardener) had decided to form a guerrilla organization and gone into hiding in order to train and plan. While naturally concerned about their safety, the Lord and Doctor felt that radical politics were incompatible with a lifestyle of privilege and declined to join them or to support them financially, although he did allow Smudge a crate of very passable 1953 Levert Frères as a farewell gift.

As for the game, Wolves maintained their 100% start to the season with a deserved 3-2 win. Come on me babbies!