Foul-Weather Fans

I suppose there was always the slight chance of my wife exploding or, at the very least, passing out in a shower of sparks and a cloud of blue smoke. As it happened, the electric bodywarmer I'd bought her for Christmas worked a treat and she was as warm as a freshly baked muffin as we watched the Caley Thistle game from our vantage point high on the main stand.

Of the three of us, though, she was the only one that was comfortable. The wind and rain made the whole match experience feel like some kind of weather endurance event. Zed-son snuggled in between us while I sat on the end of the row, taking the full force of the elements in the way that protective fathers ought to. I'm told my expression was somewhere between a grimace and a silent scream. It's the face you see on those prehistoric mummified bodies they're forever digging up in Siberia.

The Partick Thistle fans were loud. One of our Glasgow-based radio producers had told me that he would be among them. I just hope he did not join in the chants about Inverness supporters going home in tractors and so on. I shall scutinise the TV highlights just to check.

Anyway, Caley Thistle won by three goals to nil and made the whole experience worthwhile.
I just hope the wind changes soon or I may never close my jaws again.

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