5th Jan - COVID & Quavers

We went a bit deep last night, didn't we? (That's what she said)... So I'll resist the urge to stir-fry your brains any further with my existential crisis and philosophical musings. Instead, I'll talk about Quavers. They've always struck me as a 'child's crisp', to be honest. I suppose because you usually see them in the hand, or more often - around the lips - of some chavvy sprog in a pushchair in your local town centre. But I'd like to issue an apology to Quavers today. Because I've largely been ignoring them for the majority of my life. I'm a fan of a hearty crunch, you see... A flame-grilled McCoy, if you will, or a pickled onion Monster Munch. Perhaps a sour cream & chive Pringle, or the knobbly phallic delight of a Nice 'N' Spicy Nik-Nak. But today, I chose to abandon my double-decade abstinence of this cheese-flavoured puff snack, and embraced every second of the melt-in-your-mouth phenomenon. It was, arguably (and this highlights how sad my life has become), the highlight of my 2022 so far. In future, perhaps I'll even dare undress their siblings. The sexy temptation of the prawn cocktail Skips, or the cheddar seduction of a Wotsit. 

Talking of cheese... My pre-match routine when strolling up to my beloved Emirates Stadium usually involves a swift pint in The Arsenal Tavern, followed by a quarter-pounder from that van outside the dodgy Chinese/Chippie, which - given the fact it still only accepts cash in a post-pandemic world - I'm pretty sure is some sort of money laundering HQ. Alas, who am I to judge? I smother the two patties (or 'used to', at least... Prior to my NYE rejection of red meat), in hot mustard (a tradition dating back to 2014 with a fellow Gunner-supporting Uni-chum), and take a browse of the scarves/merchandise via Gillespie Road and the outside of the old Highbury halls. I usually pause for a moment or two here, away from the chants and chaos of the Tottenham-hating crowd, to evoke my inner nostalgia. I'm a romantic, I can't deny it. It was a walk I was meant to be partaking in tomorrow evening, but the bin-dippers in the photo below have put pay to that via yet another 'COVID' postponement. 

I use the quote marks, because anybody who is even slightly aware of the situation, is also fully aware of how Liverpool have manipulated the situation to their own gain, in one of the most glaring displays of unsporting behaviour in the modern era. But I'm not here to question what they're smoking over there on Anfield Road, I'm here to talk about fate. My mother and I have expressed a desire to attend an Arsenal match together now for some time, and though I certainly wouldn't slide her into the 'ardent fan' folder (I'm not sure she could name any player in the current squad), she's adopted a natural affection for the club, on account of my own passion for all things red & white. Like myself, she enjoys adventures and making memories together via experiences and events, and so it only seemed natural to tick this off our joint bucket list. Our first attempt came in March 2020, when we managed to locate beautiful seats for an England Vs Italy friendly (it was no such thing 16 months later) at Wembley. A few weeks after - for obvious reasons - the game was called off. 

Fast forward to 2021, and with fans finally allowed back into stadiums, we pencilled in the Wolves match during the Christmas break as the ideal time to take my Mum up the Arse (steady!)... Only for a message to come through on the eve of Boxing Day that the game (scheduled for the very next day) was, once again, called off. We thought we'd rub the genie's lamp on one final occasion, adopting the 'third time lucky' motto for the Cup Semi-Final against the Scousers. And now, here we are, 24 hours prior to kick-off, witnessing our dream fall at the final hurdle once again. I've always maintained the Christian beliefs upon which I was raised, and whether you believe in God or any other higher being, sometimes you have to accept the role of 'fate', and realise - often for reasons above your own understanding - that you were never meant to be in a certain place, at a certain time... Usually for your own protection. One place I will be tomorrow, is the West-End's Dominion Theatre, to witness one of the final showings of 'The Prince of Egypt'. It was - in fact - only just a week or so ago that I first attended this production, and such was my delight at the magically choreographed musical (the animated version was always one of my favourite movies as a child), I instantly knew I had to return for a second time before it moves onto pastures new from 8th January onwards. In fact, there's usually an usher who trots down the aisles at this theatre, asking the crowd which snacks they'd like to purchase...

When she asks me tomorrow, my answer will be simple...

Quavers.