MODERN FAMILY

IT looks like we are finally in for some good weather, and it is going to coincide with a bank holiday.

Maybe we should plan a trip to the beach, take a long walk and finish off with a cool drink in a beer garden.

All sounding good until someone reminds me about the nail-biting Sunday afternoon in store for football fans, especially as I live with two sets of football fans for rival teams who happen to be near the top of the Championship (some information does sink in).

It is a wonder I have forgotten as I have asked enough times about whether they need to win or not. The answer is always a complicated permutation of what will happen if each team wins, if one loses and the other draws, if they all draw – it is worse than any maths lesson.

I find myself watching a lot of a game I don’t really understand, but as a Mother of Boys it is written into the contract.

Above the second commandment of thou must lift our stinky pants and socks off the floor every evening, is the first and most important: “Thou shalt pretend to understand the off-side rule, spend Saturday mornings on the side of a sodden football pitch, and not mind your beautiful lawn being churned up into a muddy mess.”

As if that wasn’t too much of an ask, I’ve also had to develop new language skills, although I don’t always understand what the vocabulary means.

For example, shouting in cliches when pitchside seems to be the order of the day. “C’mon boys, get stuck in”, or “Yellow throw”, are instructions I’ve mimicked from the dads, although I’ve not yet risked “Get goalside” as I haven’t the foggiest what that means or where that actually is.

As for yelling “Great tackle”, I think that’s more suited to hen parties in St Mary Street.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted my boys don’t require a shove out of the door to take part and, more importantly, it keeps them far away from a games console and television for a few hours.

It’s just I wish either we lived a lot closer to the equator or they kicked a bag of wind around in the middle of the summer, when I wouldn’t be risking hypothermia at least once a week.

This winter has been so bad they have had to extend the season to fit all the games in, and they are still struggling as it continues to rain.

I am also planning to invent a GPS tracking system for shin pads, as no matter how often I put them somewhere safe, they always seem to disappear into a parallel universe 10 minutes before kick-off.

So the bank holiday plans will have to be put on hold until Monday in the hope that they will be in a celebratory mood.

If they are not, I will be spending my time biting my lip and stopping myself telling them, “it is only a game”.