Getting the football boots out

There’s are few more nostalgic moments in an older guys life than going to retrieve the football boots from the back of the cupboard. Past the deflated Pilates Ball, the stretched Zumba Leotard, the pink Roller Blades and Iron Man Branded bike helmet, right past the wind break and slow cooker lid, onwards deeper past the musty camping equipment you threaten the kids with every year, the home brew kit you promised you had thrown away and there in a spice girl world tour plastic bag nestles Valhalla, the boots, like the golden monkey from raiders of the lost ark, tears streaming down your face and you remember the golden years and question why you never cleaned them before placing them in such deep storage. The theme music to the dam busters starts up, you remember a time where your partner would stand in the rain to watch you do something that didn’t involve DIY and time where the kids couldn’t beat you over a hundred yards. Clutching them to your heart to return, trip over the Carmen rollers and receive the forthcoming wisdom of “aren’t you a bit old for that love”

bring.it.on

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