Diary

Liverpool are playing Porto in the Champions League tonight.

This is not the kind of sentence I often write.

I only know this and am watching this because my son-in-law follows Liverpool.

When I was forced to live as a boy I was also forced to play football and would spend my time on the field feeling cold and miserable and trying to keep as big a distance between me and the ball as I possibly could.

I don’t think I’ve ever recovered from this experience and tonight so far hasn’t really helped.

The players seem to be knocking the ball back and forth to each other in a remarkably nonchalant kind of way and even the half time commentators have given up trying to enthuse us.

Perhaps the second half will be better they half-heartedly say.

Well. Perhaps. But This doesn’t help me understand the hold football has on so many people’s imaginations...