My 8-year old daughter enters the room.
Millie: Aww, football?! Football is such rubbish.
As the daughter of a life-long Saints supporter she has a point.
Me: That’s true, but it’s not on for long.
A lump of sulk flops down next to me. I try to remember why other teams seem to pass the round white thing on the flat green stuff. I can’t remember. Suddenly the lump of sulk sits bolt upright.
Millie: Daddy, who’s the team playing in silver?
Me: Silver?! Oh, that’s Liverpool.
Millie: They’ve got a girl playing for them!
For a moment I feel like I’ve been transported back to St Mary’s but then I realise it’s not meant as an insult.
Me: A girl? What?
Millie: Look, there, she’s got blonde hair and she’s wearing an alice band!
Me: That’s not a girl, sweetie.
Millie: Men don’t wear alice bands!
Me: Well, actually…
Torres scores – 1-1.
Millie: Look! All the men are trying to cuddle her now, eeewwwww.
Me: No, that’s cos she, I mean HE, just scored a goal.
Millie: They’re cuddling each other because she scored a goal? Oh yuck, that one just kissed her!
Me: She’s not a girl, she’s a bloke!
Millie: Why don’t they just shake hands or something then?
Me: Well, I, errr… I don’t know, they prefer to cuddle, I mean hug… you know what I mean!
Me: Yes sweetie?
Millie: Do you cuddle people in your team at work when you do something good?
Millie: I bet you’d cuddle her if she was in your team.
Me: She is a he! Her name, HIS name, is Fernando Torres.
Millie: Fernando?! Is he the one ABBA sing about?
Me: No, I don’t think ABBA sing any songs about football…
Millie: Pffff, football is such rubbish.
My 8-year old daughter leaves the room.