For what I am about to write may the Lord forgive me.
Every so often I make bold statements. “I will not use my Blackberry after 7pm at night”, “I wont use my laptop in bed”, “I will have a weekend without watching any football”. What, can you repeat that last one again? I WILL NOT WATCH ANY FOOTBALL FOR A WEEKEND. Yes, in a mad moment some months ago I agreed that I would not go to any games for one weekend in a year.
I once agreed never to lie to my Mum, agreed that I would never kiss another girl whilst I was with my first love (aged 8), agreed that I would only have “one more” on a night out (frequently) and that I would not ever, ever open that box under CMF’s side of the bed. So why on earth did I agree to this. With West Ham away to Liverpool and Lewes starting their almost certain run to the FA Trophy final I agreed to go with CMF to an old work reunion (hers not mine) in Hampstead. Fat chance of even getting to a pub to see a match, let alone an actual game – that area of North London is hardly teaming with football clubs.
After driving up to North London, smiling at people I had never met, laughing with people I had met before and generally being the perfect husband/Father I was pulled to one side at 2pm. “You have been so good, do you want to go off somewhere to watch the rugby with Tom on TV?”. Sod the rugby I thought….Could I get to a game anywhere? A quick check on the TBIR iPhone app revealed the nearest club we had never been to was some 8 miles west-south-west in Harrow. And they were at home. Could I? Should I? Would I? Silly question really. Continue reading