Meade's Ball
Well-known member
So I am at my piano lesson last evening, unpleasantly walloping keys tunelessly with my sausage fingers, when a whatsapp message arrives from my workmate, Sami. It is a photo of Bobby Z, sat on the underground opposite him, heading out West-London-wards. Bobby is wearing his Albion training gear, but has his hood pulled up for a slight bit of unsubtle cover. I reply to Sami that he should follow him for a while and breathe in his every godly exhalation, and that's that for the evening.
I come to work this morning, and what am I handed by Sami, but a little autograph from Bobby for me. What a bleeding delight!
I imagine Sami would have perhaps made out in some way that I was a 9 year old boy with medical difficulties, but anyhow, I have it and need to find somewhere special and lucky to keep it.
I may just be a bit tired at the minute, but I was rather moved. I now feel the urge to track down Jan Molby to repay the unrequested favour to Sami - he's an Eritrean Liverpool fan, and not a wannabe Dane.
I come to work this morning, and what am I handed by Sami, but a little autograph from Bobby for me. What a bleeding delight!
I imagine Sami would have perhaps made out in some way that I was a 9 year old boy with medical difficulties, but anyhow, I have it and need to find somewhere special and lucky to keep it.
I may just be a bit tired at the minute, but I was rather moved. I now feel the urge to track down Jan Molby to repay the unrequested favour to Sami - he's an Eritrean Liverpool fan, and not a wannabe Dane.
