I went to a wonderful party at a dear friend's house last night.
It was wonderful for a whole host of reasons. Warmth and hospitality. Great food, to which everyone contributed.
But best of all nearly everyone there did a 'turn'.
None of us are performers so it was as amateur as it gets. Except the quality was fantastic. From African drumming (her poor neighbours!) to a performance of Dancing Queen, complete with coloured wigs. With a smattering of traditional English songs, a poem by Pam Ayres and of course a few numbers from my lover and I.
Anyway the hostess recited one of her own poems.
It was a moving experience, not least as I have never heard poetry read by its author in such intimate surroundings.
It reminded me of how much I like poetry, my absolute favourite being the poems of Wilfred Owen. It was from reading his work I developed an interest in World War One history - not that I would claim to have any great knowledge of the subject.
None if which seems very connected to football. Until I was researching for this post to decided what to write and came across this story.
Followed by this story.
Some might argue these brave heroes are a different breed from their modern day counterparts.
They may say that. I couldn't possibly comment.
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