Sunday evening

I know, I said more pictures than words … but this slipped through the net.

My French friend J held a World Cup Final party. She and I and her English husband, her grown-up children, another French friend, an Australian, and a Polish couple and their two little girls all squeezed into J’s small living room. We sat in front of the television - some in chairs, some on the floor - and drank wine or fruit juice and nibbled on pate, cheese, French bread and a Polish speciality brought by Irina, as we watched the game.

We were of one mind that Italy were the better side because they played as a team, but we weren’t able to warm to them. We were aghast at Zidane's head butt (the captain, his last match before retirement, oh no ….), we agreed that the referee did an excellent job, we commiserated with Thierry Henry who for much of the game was brilliant but unsupported by his team-mates, and felt for Lilian Thuram’s tearful sadness in defeat. Thanks to the action replays and the input of my fellow guests I now have a better grasp of the offside rule. We discussed whether we would rather be the goalkeeper or the striker in penalty shootouts. I said the goalkeeper had the worst of it, but I was in the minority.

On the way home there were small clusters of jubilant Italians partying in the street, some waving at the passing traffic. As the bus waited for a red light to change I caught myself smiling.

Contrary perhaps to my expectations the evening had been an enjoyable one. Talking. Making human connections.