Football

I was meant to be going to the football on Sunday afternoon but I didn’t get home until five in the morning and it was already half-time before I finally managed to drag myself out of bed.

The day wasn’t a complete write off, though. A whole nine of us were present for the new Sunday tradition of a semi-competitive, ninety-minute kickabout on a covered five-a-side pitch behind the railway station. I got a stitch after five minutes, scored my one and only goal an hour and a quarter later and spent most of the rest of the time trying to look vaguely interested in receiving a pass (while hoping to be left alone in defence).

I undid whatever little good I'd done in the evening, with two pints of Stella and a burger and chips.