Waterloo

28 May 2022

It was strange watching the A League grand final on a sunny (yes) London morning. The game was ok, but I had to laugh that a team with no ground, no fans and no raison d’etre won the competition. 

My old friend Ben Goldsmith had driven up from Bournemouth to see us and after the game the boys, Ben and I went to Waterloo to do some sightseeing and shopping. Ben, it has to be stated, is the worst tour guide ever – though perhaps there was some deliberate irony in patter like: “That’s the way to the station; and that [pointing 180 degrees the other way] is away from the station.” But it was lovely to reminisce with him; he remembers such a lot (maybe too much) from our times together in Australia.

The fab four, dressed for an Abbey Road we never saw

Unfortunately, I was in so much pain from my walking (100,000 steps/66km in ten days had wrecked me) that we had to cut our little excursion short. After a nice pasta meal and a half-pint (wtf) each we returned to Clapham. My role as an anchor/brake for the boys was becoming clearer. Indeed, I was physically and therefore emotionally finished with this trip. 

We said goodbye to Ben who drove off in his gorgeous British Racing Green MG and resolved it was time to write up my blog, read and watch television. 

Indeed, we later watched the farce of the Champion’s League Final, policed by idiots and won, if not by anti-football, then by anodyne football at best.

Bed time.