Last Thursday I was sat
on a relatively busy London bound train headed on my way to Premier
League HQ and a judging panel for the second time at the Football
League Awards.
I was partly engrossed
in my judging pack, but occasionally dipping into the glorious guilty
pleasure of people watching.
And at one of these
times I was truly put into a feeling of significant discomfort.
No, not for staring
where I shouldn't – not this time – but as I watched a couple
read their red-top newspaper, I noticed that they were reading an
article that featured myself as a case study.
Bizarre, and putting me
in that will-they-won't-they recognise me quandary.
My only other
experiences of this feeling is when I've bumped into old classmates
or ex-sports chums and wondered if I'd get away unrecognised and
unscathed.
In those cases I've
often gotten away and the answer may have been that I am a completely different person these days.
And in this particular instance, whether they weren't really reading the feature or caring enough to
look up, I wasn't recognised on this occasion either.
But I was somewhat
unnerved by that short experience. A warning against the now not so
brilliant people watching.
Once off the train I
was soon rubbing shoulders with those deemed worthy of judging the
Football League award winners. A very noble bunch.
Deciding on the Best
Family Club of the Year was good fun again, and it was great to see
the ongoing work, and brand new initiatives, of many of the Football
League clubs. There seems a genuine growing consensus amongst League
clubs to try and provide families a great value day out, and not just
a game a football (not that a Football League fixture should ever be
described as that).
If you haven't checked
out what your local Football League club is doing for families you
really should.
Anyway, after I'd
exhausted my welcome, stolen my body-weight in excellent buffet and
drank a bath-full of expensive fizzy water at Premier League HQ I was
off for an exciting meeting with a company with lofty online aims.
Over a snazzy Thai meal
in a classy part of Soho, London Town, we discussed their project
and how I may be of use to it.
I was flattered by how
they thought I could help, and my potential level of input and
involvement.
Apparently I am not a
complete imbecile. And I'll settle for that.
In between these
meetings, and on the way home, I was replying to some more intriguing
emails and fielding calls from a couple of TV producers interested in
talking to me based on my appearance in said paper article earlier
that day.
A very peculiar day,
and one at the end of which I really enjoyed getting into bed.
That was until at 2 am
when I was woken by my child's need for comfort as he vomited into
the toilet of my en-suite bathroom.
A graphic and physical
reminder of what my life is really all about.
It's horrible when a
child is poorly, even with only minor ailments, and sometimes the
actual situations you are dealing with are grossly repulsive and of a
would-not-do-it-for-anyone-else nature. But that's really the point.
I got further abrupt
reminders - alternating ends - for good measure. As well as the
clean up operation, mass wash-a-thon and the inevitable getting the
bug yourself, to really hammer it home.
I hate it when my son
is being sick, and it really does knock me about, but I love the fact
that it's my privilege to cuddle him and hold his hair back while he
chunders, and to put his umpteenth pair of involuntary soiled pyjamas
in the wash.
Though, I may have got
some of the words mixed up in that last sentence.
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