Mr B kindly gave me advance warning that this afternoon he was unlikely to be moving far from his prime position in front of the television. Not only were Spurs (his team) playing arch-rivals Arsenal but
England was taking on the Aussies on the rugby pitch.
I decided I would keep him company. I could have headed off to the health club for an energising swim, of course. Or taken a brisk
walk along the promenade. Or planted the snow-drop bulbs which are still awaiting a decent burial, three weeks after we bought them on an impulse. But once we'd turned the fire on, "indoors" just looked so much more inviting than "outdoors." So
indoors I stayed.
Well, he did watch some of the Spurs match but I think it was just too heart-breaking to see it right through to the end. The Rugby promised more - but, about ten minutes
after the kick-off or the bully-off (or whatever it is they do in rugby) he had slipped into blissful slumber and could not be awakened. I watched for a bit but only because I was mesmerised by England's kit. What on earth were they wearing? I
thought England always wore white shirts with a red rose on them? Whoever suggested they should opt instead for that horrid purply colour? No wonder they lost...
I tend to believe that,
whatever your style, it is important to feel good about what you're wearing. Some people are better at this than others. They are the ones who can wind an old scarf several times around their neck and look casually smart. I just look
like an air hostess with a sore throat. They can wear trilbies, or bowler hats, or fedoras and look trendy. I look like a comedy act or a magician about to shout "Abracadabra!" and produce a white rabbit from my headgear. They can even wear
killer heels without falling over their feet. They always, but always, feel good about what they are wearing.
There is no way that the England rugby players can have felt good about what
they were wearing. I'm sure their manager gave them a good old telling-off at half-time and again at close of play but it was Really Not Their Fault. You wouldn't see the Aussies giving up their yellow shirts, now would you? Not the Wallabies. Or the
Koalas, or whatever they call themselves. I think the England team should call me in to proffer some sartorial advice before they take to the field again. I would put it to them straight: "Wear white. With a red rose." Not a real rose, don't be
silly, imagine how dangerous that would be when they started hugging each other in the scrum, as I believe it is called.
As Sporting Afternoons go, you will be pleased to hear, it wasn't a total
disaster. Mr B's other team, Gillingham, pulled off a last-minute goal and kept their position at the top of the table, seven points clear of their nearest rivals. He is a happy man.
if he's happy, I'm happy. Whatever I'm wearing...