So once again it’s freezing in London, yes, absolutely fucking freezing. One of the things that I love to hate about London is when Arsenal are playing at Emirates stadium and I’m trying to get home. I’m not a football fanatic but I grew up nearer the better team in North London so I prefer when Tottenham fans obstruct my journey home. (I swear I’m not a fan)
It was Wednesday the 19 February 2011, approximately 23:30 at Seven Sisters station. There on the platform, I watched as a couple stood waving their Arsenal flags. You could feel the effervescent energy that they were emitting. They were both happy that Arsenal had won. Arsenal had beaten Barcelona at home. I didn’t watch the game, I couldn’t care less what happens to Arsenal, but, as usual, Arsenal fans have to throw everything in your face, so there they were, right in the middle of Tottenham, in the middle of the night waving their Flags, just because Arsenal had won.
She was stunning. Tall slim with almond shaped eyes; eyes so deep and dark that you could quickly and easily get lost in them, very lost. She was the truth, at least she seemed like she was. Her only deception was the waist length hair that she owned. It was her property I’m sure but it somehow seemed out of place. So much so that I thought she was European from behind, it was that long.
Her companion was equally matched. He was tall, deep brown and well built with a heavy baritone voice.
The chemistry between them was apparent. It made them brazen enough to keep waving those flags. I looked at them and heard parts of their conversation. I remember thinking that she must be faking her enjoyment just like she’d fake an orgasm if she ever got bored. I was secretly cynical, my chauvinism was alive and well and I couldn’t believe that she enjoyed watching Arsenal as much as her present demeanour suggested. She was happy and it was real happiness but I couldn’t work out if it really was because of the football or because she was so beautiful and was in the company of someone she cared for deeply.
The train arrived and we boarded. As the doors closed, and the train moved the flags continued to wave (yes the song was in my mind too) past Bruce Grove then up to White Heart Lane. Like I said before I’m not a fan so I wasn’t offended but you can’t be waving an Arsenal Flag going through White Heart Lane. It’s not the done thing. Yes, I said it, “You can’t wave Arsenal Flags in Tottenham Just because you look good.”
They continued, sitting there looking good like a black Barbie and Ken. Their conversation revolved around Arsenal. By the way, I had been totally wrong. She wasn’t confused by the offside rule. This chick knew her shit. She was no shrinking violet, she could hold her own with the big boys and from the confidence in her tone and the intelligence in her eyes she would’ve given any male fan a run for his money.
Misconception number one…busted.
Ken had started a conversation on his mobile, while Barbie sat next to him in all her radiant glory, contented, and without a care in the world. Opposite them about two seats away sat an older man, greying and bald but huge in stature and powerful. He had just come from a night out because he was hopelessly drunk, leering over a pretty blond girl that sat directly opposite him. His charm was sufficient it seemed, because even his drunken stupor was not enough to chase her away, she didn’t move seats…until she had to get off.
When she left, his drunken mind looked for more attention. I find that’s what happens to me when I get drunk, I chat rubbish to anyone who’ll listen. He began his slurring onslaught at Barbie and Ken. It turned out that Mr Grey was a Manchester United fan. He reluctantly congratulated Barbie and Ken on their win. They were a trio, knee deep in footballing conversation, and I was lost.
“I‘m not being funny,” he slurred as he looked at Barbie in bemusement, “ I can understand why a man would be interested in football but a woman? Isn’t there better things that you’d be interested in?”
“Like what?” She had answered this question before.
“Knitting” Ken’s retort was accompanied with a cheeky grin that materialised on his face as he spoke.
I found the answer funny. Barbie just looked at him and rolled her eyes.
Mr Grey went on with his shameless drunken interview.
“So do you two argue when you get home” He had obviously picked up on the chemistry that everyone else could feel.
“Yes we argue sometimes”
“Not about football I bet, so what do you argue about”
“Normal stuff I guess” she paused “er………..he’s my brother”
Misconception number two, busted.
“I knew it was too good to be true!” said Mr Grey
Too good to be true? That was a was strange thing to say. At least I thought so. As if the notion of a couple both enjoying something like football together was unusual. The mind-set we are all sometimes guilty of, that assumes being in a relationship needs to be based on conflict and argument. Who wants that? There are better things to fight against than the man or woman that you’re supposed to be trying to love.
Ken burst out laughing, “Don’t we look alike?” They squared their faces together. They did look alike in a subtle kind of way; actually it really was quite obvious.
It’s so easy to stick to tried and tested thought patterns, stereotypes and foregone conclusions; we live by them every day. Often without thinking twice………..
As I got near my stop another Arsenal fan had crawled out of the woodworks and joined in the foray. It was all too much to bear and I was glad that I was getting off.
So the morals of the story are:
1.Never judge a Barbie by her hair.
2.Never judge a Ken by his Barbie.
3.Never think that love is supposed to be unhappy.
4. Never ever wave an Arsenal flag as you ride on a train through White Heart Lane. (The cheek of it! I swear I’m NOT a fan!)
It was Wednesday the 19 February 2011, approximately 23:30 at Seven Sisters station. There on the platform, I watched as a couple stood waving their Arsenal flags. You could feel the effervescent energy that they were emitting. They were both happy that Arsenal had won. Arsenal had beaten Barcelona at home. I didn’t watch the game, I couldn’t care less what happens to Arsenal, but, as usual, Arsenal fans have to throw everything in your face, so there they were, right in the middle of Tottenham, in the middle of the night waving their Flags, just because Arsenal had won.
She was stunning. Tall slim with almond shaped eyes; eyes so deep and dark that you could quickly and easily get lost in them, very lost. She was the truth, at least she seemed like she was. Her only deception was the waist length hair that she owned. It was her property I’m sure but it somehow seemed out of place. So much so that I thought she was European from behind, it was that long.
Her companion was equally matched. He was tall, deep brown and well built with a heavy baritone voice.
The chemistry between them was apparent. It made them brazen enough to keep waving those flags. I looked at them and heard parts of their conversation. I remember thinking that she must be faking her enjoyment just like she’d fake an orgasm if she ever got bored. I was secretly cynical, my chauvinism was alive and well and I couldn’t believe that she enjoyed watching Arsenal as much as her present demeanour suggested. She was happy and it was real happiness but I couldn’t work out if it really was because of the football or because she was so beautiful and was in the company of someone she cared for deeply.
The train arrived and we boarded. As the doors closed, and the train moved the flags continued to wave (yes the song was in my mind too) past Bruce Grove then up to White Heart Lane. Like I said before I’m not a fan so I wasn’t offended but you can’t be waving an Arsenal Flag going through White Heart Lane. It’s not the done thing. Yes, I said it, “You can’t wave Arsenal Flags in Tottenham Just because you look good.”
They continued, sitting there looking good like a black Barbie and Ken. Their conversation revolved around Arsenal. By the way, I had been totally wrong. She wasn’t confused by the offside rule. This chick knew her shit. She was no shrinking violet, she could hold her own with the big boys and from the confidence in her tone and the intelligence in her eyes she would’ve given any male fan a run for his money.
Misconception number one…busted.
Ken had started a conversation on his mobile, while Barbie sat next to him in all her radiant glory, contented, and without a care in the world. Opposite them about two seats away sat an older man, greying and bald but huge in stature and powerful. He had just come from a night out because he was hopelessly drunk, leering over a pretty blond girl that sat directly opposite him. His charm was sufficient it seemed, because even his drunken stupor was not enough to chase her away, she didn’t move seats…until she had to get off.
When she left, his drunken mind looked for more attention. I find that’s what happens to me when I get drunk, I chat rubbish to anyone who’ll listen. He began his slurring onslaught at Barbie and Ken. It turned out that Mr Grey was a Manchester United fan. He reluctantly congratulated Barbie and Ken on their win. They were a trio, knee deep in footballing conversation, and I was lost.
“I‘m not being funny,” he slurred as he looked at Barbie in bemusement, “ I can understand why a man would be interested in football but a woman? Isn’t there better things that you’d be interested in?”
“Like what?” She had answered this question before.
“Knitting” Ken’s retort was accompanied with a cheeky grin that materialised on his face as he spoke.
I found the answer funny. Barbie just looked at him and rolled her eyes.
Mr Grey went on with his shameless drunken interview.
“So do you two argue when you get home” He had obviously picked up on the chemistry that everyone else could feel.
“Yes we argue sometimes”
“Not about football I bet, so what do you argue about”
“Normal stuff I guess” she paused “er………..he’s my brother”
Misconception number two, busted.
“I knew it was too good to be true!” said Mr Grey
Too good to be true? That was a was strange thing to say. At least I thought so. As if the notion of a couple both enjoying something like football together was unusual. The mind-set we are all sometimes guilty of, that assumes being in a relationship needs to be based on conflict and argument. Who wants that? There are better things to fight against than the man or woman that you’re supposed to be trying to love.
Ken burst out laughing, “Don’t we look alike?” They squared their faces together. They did look alike in a subtle kind of way; actually it really was quite obvious.
It’s so easy to stick to tried and tested thought patterns, stereotypes and foregone conclusions; we live by them every day. Often without thinking twice………..
As I got near my stop another Arsenal fan had crawled out of the woodworks and joined in the foray. It was all too much to bear and I was glad that I was getting off.
So the morals of the story are:
1.Never judge a Barbie by her hair.
2.Never judge a Ken by his Barbie.
3.Never think that love is supposed to be unhappy.
4. Never ever wave an Arsenal flag as you ride on a train through White Heart Lane. (The cheek of it! I swear I’m NOT a fan!)
Category:
Dark Maatter
|
3
comments
Posts
