The Village Green

Am I getting obsessed? It certainly looks that way.

Crocked due to over exuberance in a practice match a few weeks ago, I continue my recuperation during half-term with muscular cycle rides with the children to the überplayground at the aerodrome and trots across the village green with the boy.

There's also been the daily yoga practice. I was going to do a practice in the garden on Saturday as it was such a gloriously un February like day. The eldest was all for it but I decided I didn't want to get my mat wet on the grass.

How out of sync is that?

Well I need to do more yoga because I was rather getting into the violence of the match between Ickwell and the other team which was the Saturday afternoon fare on the village green.

I could have had a view from the executive box that is the bedroom window of the in-laws' house. But I decided to go and mingle with the terraces that are the spectators on the bench outside the tea/changing rooms.

The Sky Blues were getting pasted by the team in white. Peter - who lives next door - told me that the team in white were the opposition.

"Oh dear," I retorted.

The Sky Blues needed a midfield facilitator who could turn defence into attack. Now I wonder who I could have been thinking about?

I wasn't quite kicking every ball mainly because I don't think I would have got anywhere near any of them. They all looked about 20 years younger than me even if they were moving with a sluggishness that hinted at a long Friday night out at the Hare and Hounds.

I was eventually called inside for a cup of tea. But not before witnessing the controversial decision not to award a goal to the Whites.

The good thing about watching a match in England is that I can understand the anger. When it all gets fractious in our matches in Paris I don't have a clue what the vitriol is about. I simply don't have that kind of vocabulary.

If I get fouled I simply get up and get on with it. Or even try and ride the kick. The skipper of my team calls it 'le fighting spirit anglais"

Which is odd since I always saw myself as a kind of continental flair merchant whenever I played in England.

As they say travel broadens the mind.