How TV grassed my Dad up
A couple of years after we moved down from Scotland in the early 1970s, London Scottish got to the rugby union cup final at Twickenham against Coventry, so with my Dad being a rugby fan, he naturally got us tickets.

The stadium was by no means full, so Dad found a spot for us, told me to stay there while he popped off "to see a man about a dog", which I now understand to be another way of saying that he was going to the bar.

After what seemed like half an hour, with no sign of my old man, I decided I'd better wander off and find him. I should perhaps mention here that I was nine years old and wearing a bright orange jumper.

Anyway, I walked up and down the stand looking for my Dad, no trace of him, then towards the end of the match he suddenly reappeared seeming much more cheerful than he had before, despite the result (I guess it wasn't just London Scottish who got hammered that day).

We had an uneventful journey home, where my Dad assured my Mum that no, he hadn't had anything to drink and he'd kept a close eye on me the whole time, and the story would have ended there, except my Dad decided to watch the highlights on Rugby Special the following afternoon. On our recently-bought first-ever colour TV. So we all settled down to watch the match - me, my siblings, and my parents.

It so happens that we were in the part of the ground opposite the TV cameras, and you couldn't help but notice this little orange blob wandering up and down during the entire match - indeed, the commentators even pointed me out (for the benefit of people watching in black and white, I suppose). They also put two and two together and suggested that if I was looking for my Dad, I could probably do worse than look in the bar...

Length? A good week or two till my mum spoke to him again, and even longer before he was allowed back out on his own.
(Capo, Mon 15 Jun 2009, 8:28, 1 reply)

Heh.
*click*
(Helixdaunting, Tue 16 Jun 2009, 0:46, closed)