I was at a lunch with CJ’s family when this happened:
A bunch of us adults – all the girls in heels – stood in a rough circle and kicked around a number of balls while a two-year-old screamed delightedly and ran around in the middle. His grandfather and a great-aunt played too.
It was marvellous fun, and I felt my heart beating in an old, familiar way.
Grass. A ball. My feet.
Yes. It was soccer, jumping and cavorting in the back of my mind.
Regular readers will be shocked to hear that I used to play soccer obsessively (in school, not in any official team – but within that semi-competitive zone I was well respected). On a couple of occasions since, I’ve played spontaneous soccer in a road or on a field. Due to uncoordination plus an enthusiasm bordering on the kamikaze, I generally play barefoot against boys in shoes – and generally end up bleeding (they end up bruised, so it seems fair).
Our little circle turned into a soccer game, and I took off my jacket and boots and felt the old love of the game come flooding back. I had to restrain myself rather a lot, but I still got to head the ball, and almost score a goal despite three defenders in my way.
Right now I’m scheming to get together with a few semi-coordinated friends and play for more than those few tantalising minutes. Could this be a new and effective chocolate substitute?
I’ll let you know.
In the meantime, here’s a link to Richard Harland’s steampunk writing tips. http://ripping-ozzie-reads.com/2010/04/30/tips-for-writing-steampunk/ and the clockwork angel picture that goes with it.