Saturday, August 18, 2007

Leicester City F.C.

Back to my roots this afternoon - across London to the Crystal Palace v. Leicester City match.
It's a tribal thing. I weaned myself for some Saturday afternoons in my late teens, jumping on my moped and heading off to matinées at the Nottingham Playhouse and Leicester Haymarket theatres. Today's choice though was a performance of Gaslight, of football. Football won. Maybe I've regressed. Here's to regression.
Most spectacular sight was a 300 pounder, stomach tattooed with an image of Elvis's head, his own head shaved, gold bicycle chain around his neck, topless and impervious to the wind and rain, spitting magnificently across three rows of seats at halftime. thee floodlights were switched on around 4pm - there's nothing like a summer game!
2-2 if you're interested - and some hopes for Leicester with their brand new team for the season, paid for by an amiable multi-millionaire. Some gutsy play with failings. I check Leicester's website at least daily for updates. It's my secret life.
I have some literary support. The writer Julian Barnes left Leicester when he was four, but still calls himself a supporter.


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