Self Portrait II
Eitan has has outgrown his Saturday football, a team he has been with since age-three. Consquently we explore competitive options and all I ask is that he visit several. Last week it was the Roehampton Rangers who seem fit and offer two excellent coaches; closer to home is the Sheen Lions (I have seen the dads scream from the sidelines: "Take him out! Take that kid out!" and I have yet to understand if this an automatic disqualifer or simply normal), Kew Park Rangers and the Barnes Eagles. The gorilla in our area is the Kingstonian Youth FC which is a standard chartered member of The FA or the governing body of English football. Plus they are sponsored by McDonalds so they must be legit. With >20 coaches and multiple-aged teams for boys and girls they certainly appear to be the real-deal and a tad intimidating. I am told that here is where a kid gets noticed, and tracked, from an early age if he is plenty good and wants to play for Manchester United. hmmm. Matches are every week-end - often at some distance - so I think our family structure about to change where ever the boy goes.
Yesterday, spent in Central London with a few meetings then Claridges Bar, I return with gifts: In Covent Garden I swoop a sweet pair of trainers for Sonnet and buy Madeleine oil paints and canvas. I also pick up colour print-film for her semi-automatic Pentax SuperME, which she has been playing with this year, which for my selfish reasons I would love for her to love. Eitan feels left out but I remind him of ManU vs. Chelsea on Sunday which he watched with pal Joe-Y-H. But back to trainers: only recently have I been turned onto the style and comfort of a fresh pair of kicks thanks mainly to Adam. The choice selection is huge and each intricacy a style point: low riders, retros, arch or flat bottoms, high tops, synthetic or canvas or combo and so on and so forth. The stores are filled with mostly teen-agers and some young 20-something hipsters all checking each other out and me checking them out. Yuf. A groups of girls fondles a pair of green and purple Nikes convincing themselves to do it: yes, fashion on the edge is pretty close to being silly and I am reminded of somebody jumping off the ten-meter platform. Are you just stupid enough to buy those purple shoes? In the end, the Nikes are out of stock and their is a collective groan ("I only want this one") which just goes to show the popular shoes are the last I would pick. Not sure if that says I am in-style or way, way out. Probably that.
Eitan writes a poem this morning
Moskito
Here I am.
A blundering blood-sucker,
A disgrace to humans,
A disgusting old wing beating wimp.
I stand on these shoulders which are as big as bolders,
I'll start sucking their blood as I get swatted around.
