Dearest diary, I'm starting to get the hang of Saturdays. They seem to start the same as every other day, but I can tell it is not a normal day when breakfast is not at all rushed, and I don’t get dressed until everything in the lounge has been properly inspected. And then, instead of going off in the car straight away like usual, we muck around at home some more, and sometimes go out later. Occasionally there is no outing at all, which can get pretty boring. Recently, there have sometimes been outings to watch some really old people run around a field chasing a ball. Daddy is there, but doesn't seem to move around much or try and get the ball. Mum hangs around the side with me and a load of other small people. They all try to talk to me, but, in common with everyone else I meet these days, this lot have some kind of speech impediment which makes their words complete gibberish. I like the woof woof though.

Anyway, today was, as far as I can tell, a Saturday. An 'at home' morning, which included the good old Elmo video, as well as that dreadful Mozart one, was followed by an excellent lunch (cruskits, avocado, cheese and water) then a sleep. When I woke up there was a bit of rushing around, then an outing in the car. The route seemed familiar enough until we got to the bottom of the gorge and turned left intead of right. We went along beside the sea for quite a while, and then over a big hill. Down the other side the cars all seemed to be different from usual. Older maybe, I don’t know. And it was cold too, so I cried a bit until Daddy turned the heating up. We eventually stopped, I was released into the custody of my buggy, and wheeled out beside a field.

After a while Daddy emerged from a small building with some other men dressed in the same clothes. This strange looking group then started to play with some balls, as were a number of other groups sprinkled around the field. It looked like fun to me, but they all looked miserable and cold. Unlike the last few times I had been at these events, this time I could see what was going on quite well. Perhaps this is because I'm getting bigger, and can see over the bar of the buggy. Mummy also provided me with a numbered team sheet for the people on Daddy's team, and so I was able to point and make encouraging noises when my favourites got the ball. I especially like Paily, who is a nice colour and has funny legs, but Snout is also nice - he reminds me of Big Teddy, and he once tickled my chin.After a bit of mucking around, the group Daddy was with stood on one side of the field, and another group in different coloured clothes stood on the other. Then a little fat man blew a whistle, and the two groups merged into one. From what I could see, the game involved two or three people chasing after the one ball while the others stood and watched, waiting for their turn. This seemed sensible for Daddy’s group, because they all looked very old. But the other lot didn’t look much older than me, so it seemed strange that they stood still so much. I hate standing still, unless I’m doing a poo. 

Anyway, Daddy was up in front of his lot, and after a while nearly got a goal (kicked the ball into the net). Firstly Paily gave him a nice little pass inside the box, from which Daddy shot but the keeper saved, and then Wal took a long free-kick right into Daddy’s path. He controlled and then shot, but again the keeper saved. I thought these to be two great pieces of action, but the big guy standing beside me said “who the hell put Stevie up front, my grandmother could have scored those”. I resolved to have him killed as soon as I could talk and write cheques. Finally someone did score a goal. A Livi corner fell to Phildo on the edge of the box, and his attempted shot dribbled tamely towards goal. Under pressure from Paily, a defender smashed it into the top corner. Shortly after that a dinky little Wal chip was nodded in from close range by Paily. Things got pretty boring then, so Mum and me went for a walk, during which I had drink and a custard cream. I saw lots of woofs running around in packs, and lots of people with woolen hats on.

When we got back, Daddy’s group were standing around beside the field having a drink. They looked dreadful, and probably needed a nap. But then they went back out to play again. Go figure. This time the little fat man who blew the whistle before (Spratty) played too, but every time he tried to kick the ball he seemed to hurt himself. Livi seemed to be getting upset with Daddy and Paily, who were “ fucking up regularly” according to the big guy on the sideline. From a feeble goal kick, Livi controlled it and set off for goal himself. He beat three players, and then the keeper with a dinky little shuffle. Soon after that Spratty got the ball inside the box, and mucked around trying not to hurt himself by kicking it too hard. Finally he gave it to Livi, who smashed it into the top corner. Someone older than me could have described this piece of action as symptomatic of the change of baton from the old to the new, but how would I know about that sort of stuff. Daddy then scored, being given a chance on a plate by Paily. Snout called out “put a monkey in front of a type-writer and he’ll eventually type a word”. He was promptly added to my hit list. 

The next goal came from Paily controlling a goal kick, and knocking it forward to Daddy. Livi was racing past him, so a small touch sent him away. Livi beat two defenders with his speed, and slotted it under the keeper. By this time, people were wandering around a lot, and Terry demanded that everyone “keep your shape”, which Si took to mean that he could wander off up front. Incredibly, this resulted in him scoring the last goal. Livi had jinked away down the left, had his cross touched on by Paily, and Si tapped in from 4 inches, a distance his wife, standing next to us, said was appropriate. Didn’t understand that bit.