Real life howling at door now football season is over

George Clarke.
George Clarke.

Men all over England are suddenly noticing things. They’re noticing they have wives, houses, children and jobs. Yep, the football season’s properly over and real life is howling at the door again.

Suddenly you’re obliged to join in conversations about feelings instead of about some South American multi-millionaire you’ve never met and his sore knee.

How do people who don’t like football get through the terrible British winter year after year? Seriously, what keeps you going and how do you cope with weekends that seem to go on for weeks without watching silly little men in silly little shorts kicking a silly little ball around a silly little pitch?

Okay, so modern professional football is a dead-eyed, soulless mistress who breaks your heart most of the time and can’t keep her hands out of your pockets. But my God, she is beautiful and you miss her when she’s gone.

With this in mind yours truly pitched up at the Ideal Home Show in Manchester last Saturday with the boss, our two daughters, the boss’ sister and her son.

We covered every inch of the place. Every wall coverings stand, every gas fire stall, every hot tub manufacturer, every sofa company, every Levi’s 501 importer, every nail bar, every soundbar demonstrator and every other company which makes stuff that people put in their houses.

Then after an hour or two the penny dropped for the real reason for our visit. George Clarke (the one off the telly with his Amazing Spaces) was giving a talk for an hour.

It really was standing room only. And he really does look just like he does on the telly, possibly a bit slimmer, a bit more chiselled and bit more handsome. Put it this way, the ladies in the audience who hung on his every word didn’t blink while he was on.

His appearance on stage was greeted with the adulation you’d expect from the Saturday night headliners at Glastonbury. Actually, that festival’s so gentrified now he could do an hour on the main stage between Mumford & Sons and Coldplay and not look out of place.

We then went to the Trafford Centre for two hours. And I didn’t moan once.