TESCO CAR PARK

Any idea why I’m sitting in my car in the Tesco car park listening to the FA Cup semi-final?

Me neither. The commentators and the thousands of fans are excited, whipping themselves into a frenzy over the fate of a leather ball. I’m not sure I care.

I’m reticent to complain about my Saturdays; I strike a lonely figure when I do that, and I run the risk of becoming someone else’s project. Nevertheless, they are what they are. And this one is what it is.

I suppose football is a sort of escapism - yet it brings people together at some tribal level. It’s the be-all and end-all, a driving loyalty underpinning millions of people’s identities. As far as I can see though, it’s great at being, and not so great at ending.

I don’t want to get into that debate again. It’s important, clearly, even if I don’t truly get why.

How did I end up here? Hunger drove me. Why am I not going home yet? I don’t quite know. Probably should soon though eh?

Maybe after injury time.