There’s a very gentle breeze in the air, just enough to brush your bare arms. The sun is shining without beating down upon me, and the chaffinches and sparrows are gossiping like recent retirees in a daytime café. My mates and I (we all look like shit—we’re either head-to-toe in that Burton’s range that I’m assuming was called ‘British Bleak’ or ‘High Functioning’ or something, or we’re every member of Fontaines D.C. at the same time—minus the butterfly clips and the old lady skirts) are playing footy on a hilly patch of grass riddled with trees and NO BALL GAMES signs because that’s real punk.
Thommo reckons pop duo t.A.T.u. are lesbians and cousins, and the rest of us aren’t sure if that’s cool or not. Whatever—one last round of heads & vols, then we’ll probably retire to Wardy’s place (because his dad has Sky) and watch the match. Arsenal v Manchester United tonight, the two biggest teams in the country, in a massive title race six-pointer.
Turns out those lasses from t.A.T.u weren’t cousins or lesbians, but the weather was nice, and the match was definitely massive. United went into it three points ahead of Arsenal, having just pulverised third-placed Newcastle United 6–2 at St. James’ (hat-trick for Paul Scholes). Arsenal were in slightly dodgier form but were nearing their imperial best. In essence, this game would be a title decider, and some of the names on the team sheets suggested it was going to be a bit tasty.
