This is how it feels to be Rich

Saturday was gala day for Garforth Rangers. When an invited team dropped out late, we took the opportunity to split our team into two (the Vipers and the Raptors) so all the kids got loads of game time.

We wanted to better last year’s grand total of zero points, and I’m delighted to say we did just that. The Vipers and Raptors may have finished fifth and sixth respectively in a group of six, but both teams gave a good account of themselves — particularly against a team from the top division that didn’t enter the spirit of the day. It was like Man City sending their first team to a non-league cup competition.

Some friends popped back to ours afterwards and the kids played more football in the garden before the water pistols came out (it really wasn’t warm enough for such tomfoolery). They traded up gradually until they were carrying whole buckets out into the garden and were basically waterboarding each other.

With the grass suitably greased, more football took place and the conditions induced some appalling challenges from the kids.

Two years ago we got some guys to install a drainage system underneath the turf because it used to get waterlogged almost every time it rained. After Saturday’s artificial watering of the surface I’m now happy to write them a five-star review.

I was absolutely knackered by the end of the day. Basically, I fell asleep on the couch after our takeaway tea, and I think I fell asleep while my wife was saying a specific sentence because I remember hearing the start of it but not the end of it.

It was so weird. I fell asleep once while actually talking (which still gets a mention every now and again) and I’m pretty certain I fell asleep while reading aloud to my son a few days ago. I remember my eyes feeling very heavy as I struggled to see the words on the page, and then I said ‘Cheltenham’, which absolutely wasn’t in the book, and it woke me up.

I looked at my boy, he looked back at me, and neither of us said anything for a few seconds. Then he asked me if that was what was written in the book.

I looked down and didn’t recognise the page I was on. I skipped back at least one whole page (a few hundred words) until I recognised something I knew I’d read. Was it possible I’d read a page while being asleep? How long was I reading while sleeping? Was ‘Cheltenham’ just the tip of the iceberg, or had I been mumbling some incoherent nonsense before it? It was a strange sensation.

No idea why I said ‘Cheltenham’, either.

I wouldn’t want Jill Murphy, the author of the book I fell asleep while reading, to read anything into this — not that she can, in a material sense anyway, as she died in 2021. She may choose to haunt me in my dreams (possibly the dreams I have when I fall asleep reading one of her books. That would be poetic).