It’s lunch hour and time to track down a Tesco’s £3 meal deal… but do you remember going home for dinner?
If you fancy clawing back some 1970s-style sense of freedom – of time ticking by at half the pace of today – first throw your mobile phone under a steamroller, and then try the age-old trick of going home for dinner.
Everybody used to go home for dinner. Well, my dad used to go home for dinner, driving home from his office job in Wigston, downing meat and two veg, Lyons individual fruit pie and custard, having a snooze in front of the news and then toddling back half-an-hour late. And, naturally enough, I followed in his footsteps.
It’s amazing how much you can fit into an hour if you run home, eat, transcribe the new Top 30 (Tuesday dinnertimes only), run back to school, tell everyone that Mud have knocked Slade off the top of the charts, get welcomed as a potential saviour supersub and then settle down to 10 languorous minutes of football on the tennis courts.
The only downside was that I always got added to the side that was losing, so never won a single lunchtime game until the age of 13 – though that was a joy cruelly balanced by the horrors of the school canteen. ‘Exeter stew’ and congealed rice pudding with a cold dash of rosehip syrup.
I want to go home.
This piece originally appeared in ‘The Lost World of Football’ available HERE while stocks last.
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