It’s half-time in the England vs Greece World Cup Qualifier, and England are looking shakey and are 1-0 down.
This morning I was on the tube, travelling North on the Jubilee line, and a middle aged couple got on, both decked out in the newest England shirts. The man spoke:
“Does this tube go to Wembley?”
Yes, it does. Are you going to watch the game in a pub?
“No, we’re going to the game! It’s our first International!”
Er… are you sure? You know the match is in Manchester?
Blank stares, then horror hits both faces, as they realise what they’ve done. Panic-stricken, they hurry off the tube at the next stop, and cross the platform to join a southbound connection, heading back into London to catch a train North. To make matters worse, they’ve travelled down from Yorkshire for the game, and a short journey across the Penines has turned into a three hundred mile round trip to miss, in all likelihood, most of the match. Stupid and tragic, both at once. Quite a combination.
Well I bet they were there to witness the most important and beautifullest moment of the game. Sheer beauty. And you beat the Germans, too! You’re going. We’re not.
reminds me of the time, when on the channel tunnel, two french families were discussing the way to Leeds Castle, checking the map for Leeds the city! ho ho. I really wanted not to tell them, but in the end suggested they try Leeds village in kent.