I sit here in my cocoon gazing at the football grey February morning. The only sounds are the muffled voices of people outside the envelope punctuated by the occasional thud of ball.
Cars turn up and doors slam. The electrified East Coast line marks one boundary but no trains yet. It is Sunday morning.
From my vantage point I can see the whole pitch. The green of the grass is in noticeable contrast to the otherwise dull winter scene surrounding the ground.
There are plenty of birds around though I have no idea what they find to eat at this time of year.
After twenty minutes the first train whizzes by, at once a thrill and disappointment. It felt right that the train was there but wrong that the experience only lasted two or three seconds, almost as if I was robbed.
Ten minutes more and I am treated to my second train, longer and slightly more satisfying but not much more. I think if I was a train-spotter I would die of boredom. This one is swiftly followed by a third, northbound job.
I’m not here for the trains of course. The field is slowly starting to fill with people and Under Tens warming up for the match. The kids are all tracksuited. One dad stands out in a red ski jacket. What’s wrong with boring blue grey I ask?
This scene is repeated in thousands of locations around the country. Tens of thousands of kids’ exercise hours overlaid with the idle productivity of parental small talk.
I climb out of the cocoon. The game will soon start and finish. Handshakes, shouts, cheers, highs, lows and more handshakes. Then we all scatter until next weekend.
There goes another one. Train, football match, weekend, whatever…