The sun is shining, it’s cold and crisp down here at Southampton-sur-le-sewage, wonderful football weather. A Saturday 3.00pm kickoff, my usual train down to God’s country is running according to schedule with no engineering works planned. I have beers chilling in the fridge ready for consumption on the journey. The nightmare of the last few weeks is surely over, a new month, a new start, a home win, goal(s) scored.
What could possibly go wrong?
Is that a bottle top you were trying to smuggle in?