Catch Up Notes

I'm quite taken by my new favourite Manchester blogger's idea of Catch-Up Notes, ie the things I would have written about properly, if only I had the time and it wasn't very late at night and I wasn't about to fall asleep due to the ravages of the working week.  Without any further ado then- my catch up notes for the week ending November 12th:

-  At the age of forty-three and in defiance of my chronic dodgy back I have made a surprise return to competitive football action.  Before my mam arrives in the comment box to tell me off, I will point out that the game took place inside of a church hall, the ball was made of some kind of window-friendly foam, and the average age of the other players was seven-and-a-half.  It was a voluntary thing with work, helping out (ie hanging around on the sidelines, waiting to be called upon) at a shambolic youth club somewhere in the inner-city and not-quite-so-leafy-actually part of the Leafy Westside.  Of course I got slightly carried away at the excitement of being back on a pitch (well, in a church hall whose furniture had been temporarily shoved back against the walls) and it was only through sheer effort of will that the evening didn't descend into a re-run of that scene from Kes where the teacher imagines he's Bobby Charlton and runs rings around his tiny charges, all the while commentating on his dazzling forward play for an imaginary TV audience.  Thankfully maturity and decorum won out, although there was one moment when I connected sweetly with a loose ball and lashed it right-footed into the far top corner from fully thirty-five yards (well, perhaps four-and-a-half-feet, but we are making adjustments for scale here) when I may, just may have wheeled away in armswinging celebration in the style of Chrissie Waddle in his pomp.  I don't think anyone noticed though. 

-Continuing the theme of adjustments for scale, Frankie has embarked on an ambitious project to mark his recent visit to Newcastle by turning the living room into a cardboard model of the entire city.  So far we have a Tyne Bridge and a branch of Geordie Jeans, both made out of old miniature cereal packets.  He's planning on spending tomorrow afternoon fashioning the Baltic out of yoghurt cartons and I imagine at some stage we will see Haymarket Metro Station reproduced in the medium of eggboxes.  Charlotte's protestations that in the interests of balance he should produce a Liver Buildings made entirely out of washing up liquid bottles has so far fallen on deaf ears.  I am taking this as proof that it is true what it said on that BBC4 documentary the other week, that Newcastle is a de facto 'Independent Nordic City State'. 

-Bonfire night.  We tried to get to Platt Fields only to find the entire population of south Manchester and large parts of Cheshire had the same idea, meaning that the 169 buses were marooned in gridlock, somewhere near Droylsden.  We jumped in a taxi and ran the last quarter-mile, arriving just in time for the closing oohs and aahs of the firework display.  All was not lost though as we fought our way against a tide of departing students to catch the bonfire being lit up, then saw dozens of candle-powered lanterns being launched in slow motion into the pitch-black sky.  They sailed off in the general direction of Levenshulme, and sure enough at home a half-hour later (we'd given up on public transport for the night and got another taxi home) we saw a few of them, floating past the kitchen window at cloud height.  We think one of them may have collided with the stunned Canada Goose who was found wandering down the A6 the following morning and shooed by passersby onto the field behind our house.  This led to us taking part in The Great Levenshulme Goose Rescue, during which a lady from the RSPCA arrived thrillingly in a white van and tempted it with a trail of breadcrumbs, before expertly clasping it to her bosom as it made a dash for the sports centre carpark, and departing to a standing ovation.

There you are.  Fully caught up.  And still time for six hours sleep!  I may try this again, you know.    

Comments

[Mam Baker]

Mam here!!! What about a return to subutteo instead of throwing yourself about the church hall. That way you will only risk damaging a finger.
I hope Frank has remebered that the Tyne Bridge is green and not blue.