To Hatfield this morning for a wet win. At 20 - 1 it’s time the boy’s team moved up the league. This is football afterall; and rugby-sized scores are not cricket. Did you see what I did there? I did talk sport. Yay me! My highlight was my boy’s penalty goal, especially after that disallowed thing. Being a good sport I cheered the opposing team’s only goal, ignoring that their player punched the ball in. The ref, being kind, also chose that moment to look away.
A quick pit stop for that traditional, healthy and chic Sunday lunch….coffee and curly fries to go please? Then to Saracens to proudly watch Teengirl ‘take ‘em down’ in a 34 – 10 win. Ever the trooper, the small matter of a kick in the face and a knee going the wrong way didn’t deter her rugby prowess. Lucky for me, my boy has taken it upon himself to guide me through the rules of rugby, as learnt from the Dangerous Book for Boys, so I am nearer to getting the point.
A day on two touchlines clearly wasn’t enough of a scare so we raced through dinner and dog-walking to get on with Halloween proper.
The little-un and I dressed up. Actually, she dressed up. A damp day outdoors and I had no need for special effects: I pulled the peak of my cap down further to avoid unnecessary scaring of small children. We made up sugary treat bags. We forgot to blow up balloons. We decorated the porch - if blue-tack and a skeleton poster count.
Heading out I wondered, where’s the treat in spending even more time outdoors on an October night? But I was wrong. BestMumChum kept me company and the community spirit was out in force. We greeted local kids scouring the streets for sweets, with their parents in tow. Ok so a number were swigging mulled wine from flasks. Parents, that is, not the kids.
Out trick or treating I missed the bulk of spookers knocking on our door demanding sugar. My boy was outraged that this year’s tricksters included ‘an old woman with no kids’. She was probably a tad over 18.
These are the rules round these parts: no pumpkin outside, hallway lights off and the message is clear. Don’t bother. Not once the x factor results have started. No matter your opinions on the contestants, the series, or Spookmeister Simon. We are addicted. We wonder why. Oh why oh why oh why…is Wagner not on his way?
Eggs should count as treats. But only when launched from my upstairs windows.
Mwaaaaaaah haaaaaaaaaaa haaaaaaaaaa (that’s my evil laugh).