Marching onTogether

After Eric's subtle post, I thought it best to provide a quick image.

Here we both are on the first day of the football season, when we went to see my parents. My father has always tried to humiliate me by pointing out, in a "reet northern" accent, that I was born in "bloody Macclesfield so where I get this bloody Leeds stuff from...." Having said that he is a Scum fan - sorry, Manchester United follower.....

No matter what team Michael chooses, I will have these photos of him in a proper shirt.... and the shirt I have on is a replica of the 1972 strip - sad man that I am, but I have over 30 Leeds strips....

And yes, he is wearing Nike Trainers :)

Talking Gibberish

Yep - I know I can talk gibberish - anyone who has seen me lurching around the pub after a few ales, especially when football has been on will vouch for that fact.
Indeed, I believe I am fluent in Gibberish, Drunkenese and the obvious "Talking Bollocks" - and according to Val, I do it very well.

But I have caught myself talking baby now. And why do we do it?

I always used to think that parents talking to babys was silly - but now I do it... sound like I am playing golf with Brucie, Tarby et al - its all "Sockies" "Vesties" and "tootsies". Having struggled to pronounce assorted african phrases that friends have tried to teach me, now I am mangling my own language.

You know what - I don't care at all :)

This week coming Michael will be welcomed into the football fold as he sits with a swearing daddy sweating over an England game.... welcome to a life long curse son - you will both get used to it, and wonder why we do it.....