There was an International Football match in town yesterday. England v Russia. Admittedly, it was only U/17s, but it's a step up from the World Conker Championships which is the only other international event ever to grace our home turf. Jack went with his PE teachers. I can't say I had such a close relationship with mine at his age. I doubt they'd even have been able to tell you my name, having successfully avoided sport for my entire Senior School career. The Sports Gene obviously skipped a generation.
This morning promised a local derby against Doncaster for the last match of the season. The sun was shining as we set out but it sticks around almost as long as my former boyfriends at this time of year, so I'd donned Jack's Pyrenean-Proof Parka which I'd marked as mine at the start of the season with generous and frequent sprays of Opium, the finest teenage boy repellent known to woman. It makes me look a bit like a bonsaied Kenny, but it keeps me warm on Sunday mornings, when the only passes likely to occur are bad, ill-aimed and oft-dropped ones from the thirty lads on the park.
We were playing down at the overflow training pitch on the outskirts of town, close to ASDA, so I popped in with one of the Dads to pick up a paper while we waited for the boys to warm up. We were just heading to the counter when I saw him. Shopping basket in hand. Bag of salad for one. Single satsuma. And a small tin of Salmon.
Cute Suit, freshly returned from his Boys-Own Golfing trip to South Africa, not looking particularly sun-kissed, but if he has as passionate a relationship with the elements as he did with me, it would have been nothing more than a polite nod, a metaphorical bum pat before fixing a sensible, no-nonsense hat and liberal amounts of Factor 55 firmly about his person and carefully staying at least 15 metres away from the edge of the shade at all times thereafter.
I'm not sure if he saw me but I was comforted to know that I had handsome, 6' 3" rock-climbing, Observer-reading Bob by my side, just in case. I'm sure Mrs Bob wouldn't have begrudged me passing him off as mine in that context.
Result: 27-7 to us; 100% boost to my self-esteem.
This was taken a year ago today during the tour to Dublin. I was off meeting Throbbie at the time. That's my Jack posing in the centre of the frame.
This morning promised a local derby against Doncaster for the last match of the season. The sun was shining as we set out but it sticks around almost as long as my former boyfriends at this time of year, so I'd donned Jack's Pyrenean-Proof Parka which I'd marked as mine at the start of the season with generous and frequent sprays of Opium, the finest teenage boy repellent known to woman. It makes me look a bit like a bonsaied Kenny, but it keeps me warm on Sunday mornings, when the only passes likely to occur are bad, ill-aimed and oft-dropped ones from the thirty lads on the park.
We were playing down at the overflow training pitch on the outskirts of town, close to ASDA, so I popped in with one of the Dads to pick up a paper while we waited for the boys to warm up. We were just heading to the counter when I saw him. Shopping basket in hand. Bag of salad for one. Single satsuma. And a small tin of Salmon.
Cute Suit, freshly returned from his Boys-Own Golfing trip to South Africa, not looking particularly sun-kissed, but if he has as passionate a relationship with the elements as he did with me, it would have been nothing more than a polite nod, a metaphorical bum pat before fixing a sensible, no-nonsense hat and liberal amounts of Factor 55 firmly about his person and carefully staying at least 15 metres away from the edge of the shade at all times thereafter.
I'm not sure if he saw me but I was comforted to know that I had handsome, 6' 3" rock-climbing, Observer-reading Bob by my side, just in case. I'm sure Mrs Bob wouldn't have begrudged me passing him off as mine in that context.
Result: 27-7 to us; 100% boost to my self-esteem.
This was taken a year ago today during the tour to Dublin. I was off meeting Throbbie at the time. That's my Jack posing in the centre of the frame.
posted by Cherrypie at 5:26 pm
5 Comments:
What an actor, your Jack!
Looks like all the rain fell a little further north!
Lucky for our kids, they got Brian's sports gene, Brian's art gene, Brian's tall gene, and I just did all the pushing and grunting.
Joyce: You should give yourself a little more credit. They wouldn't have been able to get all my good genes if you hadn't let me into YOUR jeans in the first place...thanks for that. :) Sorry Cherry for using your space...I'll get a room next time.
Boys...you gotta love em!
diane
Fantastic! My comments are now officially funnier than my blog. Well done!! Keep it up! xx
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