Today a small boy's dream came true. He was at the famous luminous-blue Allianz arena in Munich to watch the sickeningly successful football team, FC Bayern-München, play Kaiserslautern. I am pleased to say the result was 2:0 - not so much for the team, who are probably used to it, but for his parents (particularly the one with him right now on the way home, and it isn't me), who are thankfully not required to dry tears of disappointment, rage and injustice.
The whole operation was fraught with tension from start to finish. The tickets were a Christmas present from me to my male nearest and dearest. So expensive were they that I nearly had to sell Max at the advent market. (He was saved by a kind benefactor.) The price was exorbitant when you consider that the seats were practically outside the stadium. But Titus didn't care - he just wanted to 'be inside that amazing place' and 'say hi to his favourite players - maybe they'll even sign my shirt'. Well, I hope the players had long arms, because they were an awfully long way away. Anyway, having transferred the money to some suspect website, I then had to wait for the tickets to be delivered. They were promised a week before the game, but actually arrived the day before yesterday, by which time CG and I were making panicked plans about how to let the boy down gently in the event of them not materialising. But the God of football was smiling down on Bovinia, and Titus appeared this morning in all his red and white splendour, only to find his father inspecting the tickets with a grim look. Not that unusual, I admit, so I only glanced casually over his shoulder, but immediately saw why. The seats were in the Kaiserslautern section. The red-white regalia had to come off, in order not to provoke the enemy. Titus was crestfallen. I suggested he wore his Bayern-München watch, carefully hidden under a glove. Too afraid of bucking the trend, he must have been. I found it hidden under a sofa cushion after he'd gone.
Fighting tears (he is such a sensitive child), off he went in the car, armed with hot tea, a blanket, sandwiches and who knows what else. At three this afternoon the phone rang. With trepidation, I answered, fearing Mr Doom announcing that the tickets were fake. A little voice screamed out 'I'm there, Mummy! I can see all the players!!! They're - (German English alert) warming themselves up on the place!' I could hear faint roaring in the background and asked how the Kaiserslautern people were. 'They're just normal, Mummy! Some are even smiling!' I bet they aren't now though.
The whole operation was fraught with tension from start to finish. The tickets were a Christmas present from me to my male nearest and dearest. So expensive were they that I nearly had to sell Max at the advent market. (He was saved by a kind benefactor.) The price was exorbitant when you consider that the seats were practically outside the stadium. But Titus didn't care - he just wanted to 'be inside that amazing place' and 'say hi to his favourite players - maybe they'll even sign my shirt'. Well, I hope the players had long arms, because they were an awfully long way away. Anyway, having transferred the money to some suspect website, I then had to wait for the tickets to be delivered. They were promised a week before the game, but actually arrived the day before yesterday, by which time CG and I were making panicked plans about how to let the boy down gently in the event of them not materialising. But the God of football was smiling down on Bovinia, and Titus appeared this morning in all his red and white splendour, only to find his father inspecting the tickets with a grim look. Not that unusual, I admit, so I only glanced casually over his shoulder, but immediately saw why. The seats were in the Kaiserslautern section. The red-white regalia had to come off, in order not to provoke the enemy. Titus was crestfallen. I suggested he wore his Bayern-München watch, carefully hidden under a glove. Too afraid of bucking the trend, he must have been. I found it hidden under a sofa cushion after he'd gone.
Fighting tears (he is such a sensitive child), off he went in the car, armed with hot tea, a blanket, sandwiches and who knows what else. At three this afternoon the phone rang. With trepidation, I answered, fearing Mr Doom announcing that the tickets were fake. A little voice screamed out 'I'm there, Mummy! I can see all the players!!! They're - (German English alert) warming themselves up on the place!' I could hear faint roaring in the background and asked how the Kaiserslautern people were. 'They're just normal, Mummy! Some are even smiling!' I bet they aren't now though.
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