The Non Existent Matchday

Four games to go and our fate is in our hands.

The team from wherever did not appear so this meant a 3-0 victory and we keep our place at the top of the table. It suddenly occurred to me that we technically could go up without having to kick another ball in anger.

But that's unlikely. Sadly such good fortune cannot last. And next week we're playing BNP in the match that should have been played last November but was postponed due to a dodgy pitch.

Then we were a full complement but next Satuday it's going to be threadbare. Ho hum

While contemplating the prospect of promotion I've been tending an ailing flock. The missus has been well ill. And with the girls on holiday, I've had to delve into the vault of galleries that we might love.

So far Andy Warhol at the Grand Palais and Alexander Calder at the Pompidou.

I primed the girls by playing them the David Bowie song and showed them a few videos courtesy of YouTube and their mother gave them a book on Calder.


The Warhol trip was an unmitigated success. We avoided the 37 mile queues and went in, swept through the tons of cans and faces and headed to the Petit Palais for morning coffee and orange juice.

There's a magnificent garden cafe there and as it was a sun kissed spring morning we lapped up the rays after soaking up the culture.

A walk down the Champs Elysees and through the Tuileries to the Louvre to take the bus home was about as good as it gets on a holiday morning.

Better than winning a match without playing.