A Hairy Encounter

Well, Maureen’s worst nightmare has come to pass:  it’s Manchester United against Tottenham Hotspur in the final of the UEFA Europa League; Brian (husband) against Patricia (sister).  “I think I’ll emigrate,” she said in a message complete with emojis laughing hysterically.

Last week I was cross with Spurs for conceding a late goal at home to Bodo/Glimt, who were relishing the second leg at their place north of the Arctic Circle.  They’re hard to beat there and fancied their chances despite being 3-1 down from the first leg but my lot, ever unpredictable, managed a composed, professional 2-nil win.  Who’d have thunk it?

The players, soaked from some persistent fine Norwegian wetting rain, celebrated wildly with the 400 or so drenched supporters who’d made the trek north.  Their section, like most of the neat wee stadium, was uncovered – no brollies allowed – but they didn’t care; it had been worth the detour.

United, like us woeful in the league, beat Athletic Bilbao 4-1 at Old Trafford, 7-1 on aggregate.  Bad and all as they are, they’re more used to finals than us and are due a win, having lost to us three times this season already…This is the big one and I don’t want to be the unhappy one.

I really, really want to be one of those fans jumping up and down like demented eejits as her team lifts a trophy.

Should have gone to Tamworth.

I did buy a ticket (cost £5 plus booking fee) with the intention of going to watch the mighty Lambs play Burton Albion in the final of the Birmingham Senior Cup but I hadn’t done the blog in time, I had logs to unload (special offer that proved irresistible but unwise when I’m the only lumberjack) and I thought I’d better have something to eat and suffer with Spurs after all.

Anyway, Tamworth won 4-nil and my mate Chris (not playing but watching) got to jump up and down like a demented eejit and lift what’s reckoned to be one of the oldest trophies in world football, dating back to the 1880s or thereabouts.

Unkindly, I hope Chris, a Man Utd fan, is not smiling in a couple of weeks, on Wednesday 21st, the date of the final.  To add to the complications, his wife Essie is a Spurs fan,  so there’ll be a bit of family tension there too.

And there’s very, very bad news for Mo because I’ve just checked the diary and on that date she, Brian and I are all  due to be away together, at the Cambridge Beer Festival…Oops.

Moving swiftly on, I was walking back from the post box the other morning when I was greeted by a woman (unknown to me) walking her dog:  “Do you have naturally curly hair?” she said, without preamble.

“Yes,” sez I, resisting the temptation to burst out laughing at the thought of finding myself in a Peanuts cartoon alongside Charlie Brown, Snoopy and friends.

“I have to have a perm for mine to be like that,” she said, a touch mournfully.  “I’ve got naturally straight hair.”

“Nothing wrong with straight hair,” I said, having often longed for just such a thing.  “Mine just goes this way.”

And we continued on our separate ways.

The exchange, completely random and unexpected, still makes me smile.  It’s one of the joys of getting older:  she didn’t think her opening gambit the least bit odd; she was just curious; and I thought it perfectly reasonable to reply and not think it strange at all, just funny.

Our post is now collected at 0900, so I’d dutifully tootled round to send a birthday card, only to discover that there was no rush because the intended recipient had taken himself off to Paris for two nights.  He and a couple of mates were there to watch their beloved Arsenal play Paris St Germain in the semi-final second leg of the Champions League.  It was a joyous occasion – but not for the Gunners, who lost 2-1, 3-1 on aggregate.

Back to the drawing board, a journey familiar to most of us.

It was back to the fairways for me as I re-discovered the golf course this week.  Having had an annoyingly dodgy knee for a while earlier in the year, I found it easy not to play golf, especially when the weather was manky and uninviting.  Then, a friend sent a message regaling me with details of his latest round, including a hole-in-one (only his second ever in a long career):  “a 6-iron like a missile and a kindly kick off the back of a bunker”.  For the record, it was the 13th at Cairndhu, 156 yards.

Suitably inspired, I played ten holes early on Monday morning   with a friend and 18 in the Ping 4BBB on Tuesday.  My partner and I had a respectable 36 points and we brought in the winners, with a whopping 47 points.  They both played beautifully and would have given a Rory/Scottie combo a run for their money – off handicap of course.

Finally, to finish, another Charles Schulz classic – he was a keen golfer.