Making Memories

We went to Wembley Stadium this weekend to watch the Women’s FA Cup Final – between Chelsea and Manchester United. Thankfully our youngest daughter’s team won – smiles all the way home.

Apparently the attendance broke the world record for a women’s domestic football match – the stadium was almost filled to capacity – 74,000 – mostly entire families as far as we could see. Quite the difference from mens games we have studiously avoided over the years.

Change is happening though. Manchester United have arrived in the top flight of women’s football, and their crowd were the only real downer of the entire weekend. We’ve taken the kids to numerous events over the years – several FA Cup Finals, the World Cup, and even the European Cup Final. We’ve never seen so much hate, booing, swearing, and abuse from a crowd before. It was awful.

After the game we found a bar to waste an hour before attempting to get home. The rail unions had picked the weekend (on purpose) to go on strike. I wonder if unions realise how much animosity they cause in the general population when they purposely set out to ruin events that many families will have spent many months scrimping and saving for?

Shortly after arriving home my other half arrived in the junk room filled with panic – with seven weeks to go until our summer holiday abroad – our first in four years, she discovered the younger children’s passports had expired.

Twenty four hours later, and we have re-booked the holiday – delaying it by two months. Two months to renew a passport, you ask? Why yes – because the union at the passport office went on strike for five weeks, and caused the biggest backlog seen in many, many years.

We almost thought we had lost half the cost of the holiday. My other half rang the booking agency, who said we would only receive 50% back on cancellation. She tearfully cancelled the booking online, and received back a credit-note for the full amount.

We didn’t believe it until we had re-booked.

At least now we know we’re not going to be doing a “credit card holiday”. I hate owing money to anybody for anything. We’ve spent so many years stumbling along at zero in the bank, it’s become a fear of sorts.

In the morning I need to cancel my leave in July, and re-book it for September.

I might need a drink tonight.


It never ends

After a long and somewhat idiotic search over the last several years, I appear to have found a half-decent text editor for writing purposes that doesn’t annoy me too much. It’s called “Jotterpad”. I’ll let you look it up yourself, rather than go on endlessly about it. The world has enough mansplaining niche interest evangelists in it already.

I’ve always preferred writing in text editors. As whizzy and clever as word processors are with all of their gadgets, widgets, toys, and doo-dads, they always end up annoying the heck out of me. I’m never happier than when sitting in front of a dark screen with a blinking cursor.


It’s the Thursday before Easter, and I’m watching the final hour of the day tick down. We just had an enormous hailstorm pass overhead – bouncing pea-sized hail off everything in sight. The flat roof sounded pretty spectacular – like Animal from the Muppet Show had invited all of his friends round for an impromptu jam session.

My eldest daughter stood in the kitchen watching the mayhem unfold with a little bit too much enthusiasm. The prospect of the world coming to an end was apparently very exciting indeed.

I might have laughed a bit too much when she uttered C3PO’s famous line:

“We’re done for.”

Let’s hope an extinction event meteor strike doesn’t happen during her lifetime – she won’t be able to contain herself at all.

While all of this was happening my younger daughters were preparing to depart for Wembley Stadium – to watch the England women’s team play against Brazil tonight. I’m staying here – making dinner for myself and our eldest from leftovers. I’ve promised not to watch the match – I have a terrible knack of causing whoever I’m rooting for to do really badly if I watch them on television.


Fifteen minutes to wind up anything that needs doing before logging off for a few days.

p.s. I didn’t leave my desk all day again (well – apart from trips to the kitchen to make coffee, which turned into emptying the dishwasher, filling the washing machine, folding clothes, washing up, tidying up, and so on, and so forth…

It never ends.


Watching Wembley from Afar

The greater part of my family travelled to Wembley Stadium today, and witnessed England win the European cup. While the game was going on I checked in on the score from time to time, and convinced myself that my life-long hoodoo about causing anything I root for to lose was still in effect.

I saw perhaps a third of the game in total, and cannot imagine the stress my other half and younger children were going through, among the nearly ninety thousand fans packing the stadium.

Ever since the final whistle, all manner of thoughts have been trying to organise themselves in my head. The commentary team on the BBC did a wonderful job in expressing many of them – touching on the generations of corruption, bias, sexism, and misogyny that have dissuaded generations of girls from playing at all.

Those of you living outside the UK might look at football as our “national sport”, and imagine a well oiled machine that operates from youth level all the way through to the professional and national teams.

The truth is somewhat depressing and more complicated than most imagine.

Most towns have any number of youth football teams. They are rarely connected at all with the larger teams in the area, and very rarely allowed to use any of their facilities or resources. Even when local clubs do integrate, the subscription fees gathered from the youth level rarely percolate back into anything for them.

When you then add in the prospect of a female team, the obstacles and hurdles grow taller still. All three of our daughters played for town teams at one time or another during their youth. I lost count of the weekends we spent trying to find a “last resort” football ground in the middle of nowhere because it was the only place the girls team could find to be allowed to play a game. I remember one CUP FINAL game in particular where the grass had not been cut for some time, and the ground beneath it more closely resembled a ploughed field than a football pitch.

In the middle of all of this, the miraculous thing is that you still find parents and coaches that fight to provide their children with a team to play with, and consistently go the extra mile – sourcing sponsorship, kit, footballs, goals, and so on.

And then of course you look at the men’s game, and the “elite” level – where talented teenagers are pulled from school, have more money invested in them than they can possibly imagine, and who then attract the romantic pursuit off attention seeking social media influencers who aim above all else to become famous for being famous.

On top of all that nonsense you find professional players not wanting to play for the national team because they won’t earn as much as they might playing for their clubs.

You can’t make it up.

One of the commentary team this evening said something interesting – that the England women’s football team won the European Championships not because of the system, but in spite of the system. I couldn’t agree more.


Mother’s Day

It was “Mother’s Day” in England today. Apparently the origins of mother’s day in the UK date back to an era when people worked in service (think Downton). It became a tradition for service staff to be allowed the day off to visit family each year. I only heard this story on the radio this morning – I’ve never heard it before.

We spent the entire day standing in the cold at a rugby tournament.

It’s been a tough year for our middle daughter. Rugby has always been “her” game, but she has always struggled to find a team where either she belonged, or where the club had any numbers of players in the same age range as her. This year has seen her as one of the few experienced players in her entire team – and while the rest have next year to progress, improve, and see success, she will not – she moves on to the senior team after facing defeat, after defeat, after defeat.

The surprising thing? She still loves playing, and looks forward to every training session, and every match.


A Challenge Faced

This year I’m taking part in “Bloganuary” – a series of writing prompts published throughout the month by Mindy Postoff. Today’s writing prompt is “Write about a challenge you faced and overcame.”.

I’m coming up with very little for today’s writing prompt. Perhaps this is some kind of mid-month malaise – the result of having answered all the various “Bloganuary” writing prompts so far, and slowly depleting the energy devoted to scribbling half-sensible words.

(frowns for a few moments)

I think I’ve got something worth writing about. Does running count?

In the months before the first lockdown I took part in a “Couch to 5K” programme at the local running club – mostly to support my daughter. It’s worth noting that I didn’t sign up for the programme – my other half volunteered me. That kind of thing happens a lot around here.


After running with a rag-tag group of non-runners for a couple of months, we eventually “graduated” – running five kilometres around town together.

I think perhaps the biggest take-away from running with the group was that it made the entire escapade a lot easier. When I run on my own (which I still do fairly regularly), there is no peer pressure to get out on anything like a regular basis – but while attending the organised runs with the group, both myself and my daughter lifted ourselves by our own bootstraps. We showed up. We ran.