I tell you, it ain’t half draining, this World Cup. I’m trying to watch as much of it as I can possibly manage, and even then I’m missing at least one match a day. I keep looking at the 11pm kick off and thinking I might just give it ago, but then my common sense engines kick in again and I force myself to bed and watch the highlights the next day.
Last night at dinner E turned to me and said ‘you know you don’t have to watch every match.’ At least I think that’s what she was saying, I was only half listening because the football was on. But it’s not a question of ‘having’ to watch the matches. I want to. This tournament has been quite brilliant so far, with the exception of the odd match here and there. It’s a right royal festival of football and I’m in until the end, even if it’s at the expense of having any other free time, doing any writing or indeed conversing with my family.
Reading that back I must seem like some kind of monster (not the Metallica documentary, or indeed the rubbish Metallica song it’s named after) and maybe I am, but I’m very lucky to have a partner who hates football but is happy to put up with the excesses of this particular part of my personality. She’s fab really. Either that or she’s secretly pleased of the opportunity to have Netflix to herself and stare at John Hamm each evening. I suspect it’s actually the latter. Anyway it’s Spain v Chile later, so let’s see if one of the favourites can get knocked out of the tournament after only their second game. I will be cheering on Chile, along with I suspect almost everyone who isn’t Spanish.
In other news, it seems that persistence does pay off after all, as there is a brand new Kindle winging its way to me as we speak. Hopefully I should be able to get my greasy little mitts on it tomorrow, which means I need to buy those Jon Ronson books again. Turns out having a fancy title in your email signature does have benefits after all.
