Introducing Penny Culliford
6th March 2007
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Football Crazy Over Youby
Penny CullifordDENZIL: "I never meant to deceive her. It just, you know, happened.
It was at the Antigalican. We were all there – Paul, Danny and me. Paul and Danny were watching England v. Jamaica on the big screen, and I was along for the ride and a pint.
Then I saw her, jumping up and down, screaming and going mad when England scored the first one. She was beautiful; her smile so wide she could eat a cucumber sideways and the way her breasts bounced - like
two Chihuahuas at a very tall gate. Gorgeous! Anyway, by the fourth goal, she was dashing around kissing everyone. When she kissed me, I was knocked out. I was in love.
At half time, I plucked up the courage to talk to her and bought her a lager. She commiserated about Jamaica’s misfortune, and I did a pretty good job of looking crestfallen. Truth was I didn’t really care. I prefer rugby. But she cared. She asked me who my favourite player was, and I didn’t know. It seemed to matter to her, so I said Jason Euell. He only came into my head because my brother was at school with him.
Well, by the end of the match, I had her phone number,
and she was talking adjacent seats at the Valley next season. I couldn’t say anything, could I? I didn’t want to disappoint her.
She decided I was still in mourning the next evening, so she came round and consoled me over Jamaica’s defeat with the Jade Garden’s finest beef chow mein, egg fried rice and sweet and sour pork. I’d spent the afternoon with a slab of blu-tac and every football poster I could lay my hands on. My walls were a tribute to the premier league, hardly an inch of wallpaper showed. I had Liverpool in the lounge, Sunderland on the stairs, and Tottenham in the toilet. I stuck Euell on the bedroom ceiling, just in
case things worked out. A trip to Woolwich got me kitted out in a Brazil shirt, and left me thirty quid poorer. But it was worth it. I chose Brazil to make my taste in “the beautiful game” seem wide-ranging – I didn’t want her to think I was shallow. I even renamed Tyson, my bulldog, Beckham. This surprised and confused him so much he wouldn’t come in after his walk, and I had to entice him with a Bonio.
Thursday, my place, we had England v Trinidad and Tobago. I managed to stay awake. Again she kissed me and hugged me and pressed those magnificent Chihuahuas against me when England scored. Even the dog got excited. I bet that’s the first time she’s had Beckham sniff her crotch.
We’re back to the pub again this week. She’s going to introduce me to her mates. That’s why I’m sitting here studying the 1998 “Shoot!” annual, so I’ve got something to talk about.
What am I going to do when it’s all over? The world cup, I mean. Once the flags drop off the cars and the madness is done with, will she still want me? Do I tell her? Will she rumble me first? Can I keep this up?
Perhaps I should learn to genuinely love football, and she can learn to love me too.
Blimey! That’s her now. Book under the sofa, telly on, lager out. Coming, love! Kick off’s in ten minutes".