Virginity #2

Losing your virginity has been covered by me before, and yesterday, I'm proud to say, was Tiddler's turn.

For the last home game of the season, Tiddler came with me to OT for his very first game. He has been going to see the Mersey Reds with Mr. Duck and JP of late and has been sporting a Gerrard shirt and singing 'Fernando Torres, Liverpool's number 9' in lieu of 'we all know that Johnny is going to score'.

This was effectively damning me to a life sentence of going to the Theatre of Dreams alone. Not exactly a stretch in Strangeways, I know, but sharing the experience with my son and not having to rely on Amazing Dave to take me when I'm an OAP, was something I have been dreaming of since JP and Tiddler were born. I grew up in a family of Mersey Reds and then married one. It couldn't be my misfortune to rear two as well, could it?

It was utterly brilliant. He pored over his programme, munched his way through a big picnic and it was my delight to thrust him aloft in his United shirt for each of the four goals. My fellow fans welcomed him, tousled his hair and shook his hand, as we marched imperiously towards retaining the Premiership crown.

I took him pitchside for the lap of honour. The proximity of the Great and the Good, smiling and waving just for us, or so it seemed, hopefully secured a corner of his Tiddler heart for the future. He may never share my passion and OT may never be the one place in the world where he feels truly alive, as I do, but as we walked back to the car, eating chips and gravy and singing Viva Ronaldo, I felt a small flicker of what I recognised as hope. Life is good.