His Socks Often Fell To His Ankles

Working from home today and as Loafson and Loafdottir did their best to delay the walk to school we got a text offering Loafson a ticket to Leicester Vs Forest with his mate at the Walkers Rosebowl Soccer Stadium. Just one ticket. Not one for his dad. The football hating dad. Me. What?!?!?

He's only six whereas I was ten when I first went to Meadow Lane to see City eek out a 0-0 draw with Notts County. This was a few years after Elvis had left the building and some jug eared clown fond of potato snacks may have played that day. My lasting memory was the terrace, the stench from the toilets and the terrible, terrible stench from the burger van. Over the next couple of years I went to Filbert Street a number of times with my older brother and Dan D's family. Dan was and still is, a great chap leaving a well paid job to take up a job at the local care home. Him taking us to the football was especially good of him. Our dad had just died and so his generosity went further than a ticket and a burger. Him taking the boys out of the house meant my mum could have a bit of peace with my younger sisters. Well, she bought the drum kit!

So Loafson's going to his first ever professional game without his dad. So did I.




Anyway, I went down the club shop at lunchtime and bought him a wooly hat featuring the logo Frankie boy wears above. Don't tell him or his mum, it's a surprise. Tears? Nah, just a bit of moisture mate.