I had the most bizarre day, yesterday. Daughter 1's latest boyfriend, well fiancee, is a Boro fan from a Boro family. We haven't done the parents meet thing, although we have met the gypsy prince a good few times. So seeing as their horses would get tired coming down here, we agreed a trip up there for the match.
Both daughter 1 and the war office had instructed that I 'shouldn't be a wee pipe', so off we headed. So as to not get too creepy we booked a hotel, and duly met the potential in-laws in a pub for a spot of lunch. Within the the first 5 minutes the gypsy prince's dad asked about our ground sale, to which I duly noted it had been signed off by the efl and suggested it might be less fuss if Gibson just stopped embarrassing himself. I guess somewhat rightly the gypsy prince's dad asked me to expand on that point (well that's what I think he mumbled). The females of my family were already giving me that look, so I quickly stated it might just be cheaper if Gibson just admitted the parachute payments were gone and he has lost the key to the magic wardrobe to Narnia. I did then shape up a little to ease tensions and tried to expand the conversation, but both the gypsy prince and his dad essentially went on to say how much they, and scrubber Woodgate, did not rate Monk. In fairness, I wasn't best pleased with Tuesday night, or the signs from the girls, so just let it wash over me.
So then we have a few beers, head to the match. And we smash them!!!
Cleary we are in the wrong end, so I am having to watch the wonder in front of me somewhat more muted than I normally would. I did offer the gypsy prince my card so he could pop down and get the beers before the ht break. I may have also stated I was happy to stay for the second half myself, as they may wish to leave? More frowns.
Luckily the second half cantered by without fuss....... and queue the evening meal*, and both the gypsy prince and his dad tried to resurrect the ground sale debate. By this time, buoyed on the win and booze, I just shrugged my shoulders and suggest Gibson could save a few quid by rolling their Christmas and end of season do into one, but this only seemed to amuse me.
Eventually, me and the better half retired back to the hotel for a night cap, resigned to the knowledge the gypsy prince would be hate banging our first born**. In fairness, Mrs A loves Wed in equal measure to I, and she did seem to not need to make any snarky comments, so after a brief lecture on my lack of emotional maturity we did manage to admit we would both usually have been made up with a point away up there. We also agreed that should there be a wedding and potential invite to a stag do, I probably shouldn't attend.
Tricky stuff being a grown up.
* a sit down one, and not a McDonald's, who would have thought?
** apparently, it was just me thinking that.