It’s nice to see that in this age of the credit crunch, when you’ve not got huge bundles of cash to spend on a new car, that the smaller cars in the market have suddenly become a good looking bunch.
Sure, there’s still some rubbish out there, a lot of it actually , but look no further than the Honda Jazz (Above), the new Ford Fiesta and my current personal favourite (although I won’t be buying one) the Fiat 500 for something just that little bit better. And especially if you’re going to be given £2000 off for that old ugly rubbish you’re currently driving, you have no excuse not to buy something with style.
Amongst the books that sit against the computer on my desk is a white envelope. This envelope contains used tickets. At the very front of the envelope is the ticket for the first Saints home game I went to, more than 11 years ago. Most of the rest of the envelope is a potted history of the teams I’ve seen us play between then and when I got a season ticket 3 years ago. Consider it a record of how I’ve spend Saturday afternoons and occasional evenings for more than 40% of my life. The memories of listening to the radio commentary while playing computer games on Dad’s 286 laptop before that are only available in my head.
For as long as I can remember, Saturday afternoons between 3 and 5 have been a mixture of nerves, singing, shouting and the biting of nails (oh and trying to avoid looking at the score if it’s an away game). The hours before are part ritual, part routine. The amount of money I’ve spent is not a question you don’t want to ask.
And now, there’s a chance that all this could be gone, forever, not because of the players on the pitch but because of those off it. This quite simply unthinkable and as stupid as it will sound to some people, I honestly don’t know what I’d do with myself if it happened. So while the results on pitch slowly push us towards the lowest point that I’ve ever seen us at, I quite simply don’t care.
All I want is that there’s a team in that stadium to support come August.
