The first match of last year was, by coincidence, also against Seatoun, and the match report for that game finished up with the words “we certainly don't want to win this league and get promoted.”

Those were fateful words. Div Two wilted under the Turtle juggernaut (er, except that game we lost, and all those other games we very nearly lost), and as the new season approached, it looked like a done deal that we would be back up in Div One, to struggle again. Probably.

AGM 2005 lined up to be a crucial moment in Turtle history – would the team dissolve into suburban oblivion, or live to wobble through another season? The atmosphere at Si’s new place, up in gorse behind Churton Park, was convivial enough, as the women chatted in the kitchen, and the Wilkinson’s kids used crayon on the pristine walls, but there was a tangible sense of tension, as the meeting itself drew closer.

CJ’s absence was potentially disastrous, as without his steady hand on the wheel, our ship could well slew wildly off course. The chairman has guided us safely through rocky waters over the last few years, his droning monotone voice providing a soothing ripple in our sails. As it was, the meeting decided to plough on under spinnaker without CJ’s guidance, and to compensate for his absence, installed his much lusted-after wife, Vanda, as patron, strapping her, figuratively speaking, to bow of the good ship Turtle.

In a shocking break from protocol, Weasel installed himself as proxy Chairman, and got the meeting under-way. After the initial niceties, the moment of decision arrived – would we accept Div One, or fold. The lads laughed heartily, puffed out their chests and stomachs, and voted to continue. It was recommended that someone have one last go at the tireless Trojans at Wellington Soccer, and PK volunteered.

The transcript of this initial conversation will remain confidential, but let's just say that our requests fell on deaf ears!

So that looked like the end of it. The Turtles, a group of fat old men more suited to a game of lawn bowls than soccer, would be forced to endure another season of hardship, with Gordie and Weasel leaving mid-season to further harden the task.

PK rang Wellington Soccer a week later, and this phone call went rather differently from the first. And so, when the draw for the first game came out, the first two Divisions of Master had indeed been combined. The Turtles were lined up against Seatoun, originally at Ben Burn, the Turtles spiritual home, but then transferred to Anderson Park, spiritual home of cricket, and alternate spiritual home of the FTFC.

(For those spiritually inclined, it may come as a surprise that none of the current Turtle playing squad or management staff have yet been talked about as being in line for the Papal job).

Meanwhile, somewhere near Palmerston North, Vanda had just finished drying herself after her morning shower when she heard a knock at her back door. Tying up her silk dressing gown, the new patron of the FTFC skipped down the hall to the kitchen. The house was empty, the day was hers, and a knock on the door could mean any kind of opportunity for fun. She recognised the cute little brunette who stood on the doorstep, but couldn’t put a name to the young fresh face.

Hi, Mrs Taylor, is Nick in?

Oh, no, sorry, he’s already gone off to Uni.

Oh. Well, ah, can you tell him I came? I’m Orla.

Of course, Orla. You just live up the road don’t you, near that tight corner?

That’s right, just past the thicket.

I’ll tell him you called.

Thanks, I’d better be going.

No wait. I like to meet Nick’s friends. Come in for a cup of tea.

But I really should be getting off.

Oh, come one, I won’t bite.

OK then.

In the kitchen, Vanda put the kettle on, and stood with her back to the bench while Orla propped herself up on one of the bar stools. Her tanned legs were highlighted by the tiny white shorts that matched her T-shirt, both of which strained to contain her blossoming figure.

Are you one of Nick’s girlfriends? I believe he has a few.

Well, not really, but I do like him.

Have you been with him yet?

No, of course not Mrs Taylor.

Now, come on, I know what goes on these days.

No, honestly. I’ve been thinking about it, but, you know, I’m not sure it’s what I really want.

What do you mean? Nick’s a nice boy, you could do worse.

Well, it’s just that, well, I like boys, as friends and stuff, but I’m not really sure if I’d like to be, you know, touched by one.

The kettle came whistling to the boil. Vanda poured the tea and brought Orla’s cup over to the counter. She put it down, and leaned against the counter beside Orla.

What do you mean? Would you rather be touched by girls, perhaps?

Well, I’m not sure. You know, it’s all so confusing, and sometimes when I see a nice looking girl, I have feelings that I know aren’t right.

There’s only one way to find out for sure if those feelings are right for you.

Vanda stepped back and opened her dressing gown. Orla gasped, but only hesitated for a moment before reaching out….

Oh, right, sorry, where were we? Oh yes, the game.

We knew this Seatoun team could play a bit, and so that proved in the opening phases. Lots of good passing in the middle, two big, dominant central defenders and some sprightly running up front. And that was us too. Chris Lavis (rhymes with Davis) was back from oblivion to partner Mike in the middle, and they achieved at least parity in midfield. Glenn darted around up ahead, and Wal was eager on the right. Gordie had made a tactical error by wearing his slippers on the damp ground, so was basically in the way for the first half hour, but we had a new attacking weapon to call on. Wal’s off-season recruitment drive had come to fruition for once, and, as well as Martin, a large and useful addition to the back four, he’d scored us Rohan, a thin, fit, young (late 30’s) lad of undoubted ability. His running up the right provided the first goal, by way of a delightfully directed low cross into the path of Glenn, who slotted efficiently from just inside the box. The celebrations were more to do with having signed up Rohan rather than any particular significance of the goal, nice though it was. Ten minutes later Glenn scored again, with a gutsy (against two large defenders) jump at the far post which was rewarded with a header into the corner off the back of his head.

Our lead looked pretty comfortable, as we seemed to be snuffing out most of their threatening attacks OK, with GT in particular doing some good work at right back. There didn’t seem to be any threat when a speculative cross came in from that side after about half an hour, but it was too much for Snouter, and plopped gently into the far corner for 2-1.

Shame, but pretty much fair enough on the balance of play. The rest of the half created a few openings at either end, but nothing to serious, unless you count weasel almost having his leg broken by the oppo keepers knee-high challenge.

Halftime was a welcome break for legs and lungs rusty from a summer in the comfy chair watching the last rites of Craig McMillan’s career. Navel orange did the trick, and within a few minutes of the start the lead was extended. Another move down the right caused stress to the oppo defence, and from a shot (from someone) a deflection lobbed up for Gordie, how put it away, making it look easy. Then a short time later an attack on the left appeared to have ended tamely, when an oppo defender had time to clear on the near post. After some deliberation, he decided to knock it gently across goal to PK, who may or may not have called for it. PK took the time to beat a defender with a trademark shimmy before scoring. All rather strange.

The next two goals were much more pleasing to the eye. First, Glenn surged down the right, and weighted a nice ball into Gordie. Again he made a tricky finish seem easy. And then a short time after that a corner was deflected out from the near post to Glenn out near the edge of the box. After one touch to control, he volleyed it back into the corner, helped along by a deflection of a defender’s hand, but still a spectacular goal, and immediately front-runner for goal of the day.

So all very comfy now. The sting went out of the oppo for a while, but they were a rather angry bunch, and wouldn’t lie down. They started to force a few corners, and given that they had a very big centre back who could jump, it wasn’t going to be long before they found him. His first goal wasn’t a particularly strong header, and as it travelled towards PK on the post, it looked like a reasonable chance to be cleared. But PK hasn’t been well lately, and could hardly muster the energy to wave a token boot as it went under him. The next header was stronger, too good for a flapping Snouter.

It did get a little bit hairy there for a while, with Snout having to make a couple of saves as the oppo came forward, and we lost our shape as people wandered around, distracted by Steve L having arrived with the beers. But the final say went to our portly leader. Gordie was brought down in the box, and five minutes later Snout arrived to ram home the penalty convincingly.

Nice start.