in november 2007
the world was a very similar place
vaguely spherical and with a lot of knobs on it
in not at all sunny london
i had just staggered off a plane from tropical venezuela
and copped that familiar juddering freezing feeling which arrives as you go up the walkway from the plane
which blighty almost never fails to provide
upon being safely ensconced above the lavatorial brazos pub in brixton
in the company of my beloved C
she agreed to accompany me to a posh bit of town
to see a fitba game
it was a friendly match between straya mate and naughty nigeria
as we crossed the mean tubes of london
to the badlands of fulham
I, shivering in giallo
still high from voyage
blathered at her with stories of venezlandia
and spouted my newly improved shit spanish
craven cottage was a delight
still retaining old skool stands etc
and the socceroos won 1-0
against those dastardly nigerians
sadly we missed the goal
as we were quaffing our overpriced beers on the stairs
because for some daft reason
they didnt let you drink in the stands
apparently the goal was a scorcher
a 25 metre thunderbastard from david carney
but we only heard the muffled roar
of the (presumably) drunken australian backpackers
from the bowels of the stand
but it was all good
despite the climatic/horological befuddlement
i got to witness my national team play
and win!
(against a team that wasnt shit)
and i was back in baby's arms...
briefly
before it was time for the next bus/train/plane
...
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