Speaking my language

That’s it.
We’ve talked about it, me and Mr TLF.
We’ve acknowledged the cold harsh reality of what is going on under our roof.
We’re making a decision from which there may be no coming back.
It’s a big commitment and now is no time for cold paws.
We’ve just got to admit defeat.
Accept it’s time for a change.
Make the break.
Yup. We’re going to change our futility, sorry, utility supplier.

Now any fule kno that this can only end in tears, probably sweary tears, missing meter readings, threatened court action and a very ANGRY TLF, probably after a significant time on hold to a call centre. And so it is that I find myself on my day off speaking to the morose sounding Glenn, who sounds far from happy in his work. The Footballing Gods (bear with me) however are smiling upon TLF and we are cut off. As you can imagine I merely chuckle, smile calmly and redial. And lo, TLF is connected to the chirpy Matthew.

We do the deal. In all fairness Mr TLF has done the pre-call interweb research and I am just saying ‘Yes’ in response to the appropriate cue while not really listening at all to my kilowatt hour blahblah price.z

There comes a pause where we are both waiting for the computer to do something. Chirpy Matthew asks my plans for the weekend. On this particular occasion they are not football-related. As a well brung up (and nosy) TLF I feel obliged to reciprocate with the same question. AND WE’RE OFF! Matthew will mainly be watching Sunderland. I respond with a suitable Sam Allardyce quip and that’s it; there is no stopping us.

We review our seasons to date, assess the pluses and minuses of Big Sam’s arrival and pay suitable joint homage to Kevin Phillips. I threaten to undo all our good work when I mention Niall Quinn’s disco pants and there is a pause…Matthew sounds a bit bemused and points out that he is only 19 (meaning he was aged not more than a few months when Quinn played in the north east). But the rocky moment passes, our conversation continues until we both accept that he probably needs to get back to work. And there you have it, the international, multi-generational and socially mobile language of football. Uniting one 19 year old call centre worker in the north-east with a 46 year old slightly eccentric TLF in the south-east. I think I even managed to compete our new utility contract.

Back of the net.


And there you have it. The common language of football. Take

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One Response to Speaking my language

  1. lonecrank says:

    I read this wearing my ‘mid-range’ specs as opposed to my reading glasses,and thought it read “We review our reasons to date”. Now that would be very foxy…..

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