Familiar stones

A continuation of yesterday’s inactivity—reading, records and food.

I played Robert at Scrabble before he, Carol and I set off for Easterby and the football. We stopped for a curry at the Bahawal and I tried to communicate to them both my love for Easterby and the familiar stones of my hometown. We dropped Carol off at Egley and went to the match with Dad in his car.

A biggish crowd saw Athletic subdued by a slick Riverside Excelsior side who went on to win 2-1. Highmore scored a superb goal to pull one back, running on to a cross from new boy Frisby (one of Athletic’s best players). The ball must have left Highmore’s head at a tremendous speed and was in the net before the ‘keeper had a chance to move.

Despite the defeat I was in good spirits throughout the match, Dad and I finding cause for great amusement in the dour monotony of an aged fan behind us, his hair greased back over his thin skull, circa 1925. What an array of human types assembled in this one spot, people the like of which you see nowhere else. There were the usual herds of blank-eyed soul boys stumbling to and fro in response to the taunts of the Excelsior fans; they sang “We’ll break your fucking neck, McArdle, McArdle” (Excelsior's best player and goal scorer), to the tune of “We’ll take more care of you,” the British Airways ad.

I got a postcard from Claire this morning. She’s been on holiday with three of her friends in Austria, and she phoned me at teatime to ask if I was doing anything next week when she’s got an evening off.

I still in my heart of hearts weave fantastic conclusions to these occasional meetings.