Me, to N, on my way out of the kitchen and before he heads to White Hart Lane for the very last time (a 40 year love affair).
“Don’t rip your seat from the stand on the way out.”
N: “I’ve already bought it.”
N: “They’re going to pack it up in a presentation box and send it over.”
Me (internally: What The Actual F***? This is a thing already?): “Oh jolly good. Where are you going to put it?”
I’m now watching the special closing of the ground ceremony on the tellybox, getting totally overemotional (good thing I am not there…) as they march out players of days of yore. Goodness me, Peter Crouch is about a foot taller than everyone else. Someone who also has a degree in Russian has just appeared. The crowd goes WILD for Glenn Hoddle. And wilder for Pat Jennings… Cliff Jones has just jogged (seriously) onto the pitch. At the age of 82. Eighty two. And he’s jogging.
Oh yeah. N was on the pitch too.