I came in from walking Dylan round Whitlingham Broad just as the second half of the Hull-Man United match was getting underway. Imagine my surprise to find Pops watching the game: he has no interest in football whatsoever.
‘Watching the match!?’ I said.
‘Nothing else on,’ he replied.
‘How’s it going?’ (I knew full well how it had been going as I have a new miniature radio with an ear-piece from Santa and had been listening to BBC 5 Live as I was walking. I don’t really care for people who do this – ipod geeks, as I think of them – because they most typically fail to communicate either with nature or with their fellow man and are all too often clad head to foot in lyrcra – but it looks like I am about to join their wretched number. I only used one of the earpieces, so I could still be friendly and pass the time etc using my right ear, plus which I was keeping up with v important events; this will become my excuse-explanation.)
‘Two of the yellow shirts have been rolling about on the floor auditioning for RADA and one of the reds has put the ball in the goal,’ father replied. ‘David Platt was in the studio at half-time, Didn’t he used to play for Crewe?’ he went on.
How on earth could father know this relatively arcane and correct fact?
‘I once decorated a front room for his father in-law,’ he replied.