Date

It is, they tell me, one hundred years to the day since the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo. In a year of many significant centenaries, this is as momentous as they come.

The fact that I have heard of it at all testifies to its importance, my knowledge of history being patchy to say the least. It is probably due to so much of history occurring before I was born, and hence having little direct impact on me; although, to tell the truth, the bits of history that have occurred since are also somewhat murky. I think the problem may be that history is not really my thing. It is heavily weighted towards facts, and events, and dates, which all have to be accurately regurgitated under exam conditions. Perhaps I prefer somewhat fuzzier subjects, for instance where the numbers don't quite matter so much as long as you make a reasonable guess at them and are in the right sort of ballpark. Whereas, in contrast, being a year or two out when referring to the start of World War I is deemed unacceptably lax.

And I am always a little concerned the way history has a habit of changing. You would have thought, having happened, it would stay the same for the foreseeable future. And yet it's never quite like that, with opinions shifting over time, and eminent professors arguing passionately about whether such and such an event actually occurred, and what it meant if it did, and what it might have meant if it didn't. You would think they would be able to agree on these details, but everything seems up for grabs. Apart from when I last sat an exam paper, when suddenly all the facts had to be accurate. But why shouldn't I have my own opinion on the date of the Battle of Waterloo, or the number of wives collected by Henry VIII? It is always good to think creatively, rather than just follow the crowd.

Exit

– You seem unusually quiet. Verging on pensive. Not writing your usual reams. Not writing anything, in fact.
– I know... Too many distractions. Too many disappointments. Too much heartbreak –
– This is about the football, isn't it?
– A writer needs to be able to distance himself from the trials and tribulations of daily life, and sacrifice himself selflessly on the high altar of his art, but sometimes it proves too difficult. The façade cracks. The mundane breaks through.
– We didn't do so badly. Admittedly came bottom of our group, but there was a bit of flair and fighting spirit on show. Occasionally. And we scored a couple of goals.
– Two. We scored two goals.
– There you go. Two more than – teams that haven't scored any.
– Iran. Only Iran hasn't scored. And they've only played two games so far.
– But we should think of our team as a work in progress. Think how much better we'll be in 2018. Or 2022, when I think, we planned to win the competition. It will all be worth it. In 2022.
– I think that was a target to aim for: it is not guaranteed. Besides, it is a long way away.
– The time will fly by. Try and take something positive from the England performance. Remember, it's not always about winning.
– I thought it was. I thought that's how these competitions worked.
– In a narrow sense, yes. In a more inclusive, holistic sense – well, still yes. But losing with style still counts for something.

Gush

Having watched a lot of football over the last week, as the World Cup continues to serve up a feast of thrilling goal- and controversy-strewn matches, last night was something of a shock to the system when I watched practically nothing. To tell the truth, I did manage half of one game, but compared to the vertiginous heights of recent days, that still represented a positive famine. Instead, I was entertained at my daughter's high school production of We Will Rock You, the classic heart-warming stage musical based on the majestic rock anthems of Queen, held implausibly together by the faintest sniff of a plot.

At this point I begin to realise that my skills as a theatre critic are as abysmal as my skills as a sports commentator. Go easy on the adjectives, they say, and chuck out adverbs altogether, along with the semi-colon and the subordinate clause. Keep it simple and direct. Appeal to the senses. Preferably limit yourself to one sentence per paragraph.

I try my best. But it is not easy writing about things you like: glowing praise rapidly starts to sound gushing. Perhaps that is why critics tend to spend most of their time tearing things to pieces: perhaps it is simpler. And you get to use juicier adjectives.

Goal

– You could make the most of this opportunity, I mean with the World Cup on at the moment, to hone your skills as a sports journalist.
– I don't really have the time: not with trying to watch three games a day.
– Precisely. So, while you're watching, you could be writing. A ball-by-ball commentary; some deep insights into innovative tactical ploys; speculation about the summer transfer market. That sort of thing.
– I suppose. But I wouldn't really know what to write. Other than copying what the commentators are saying, which I think would come over fairly dull if you wrote it down word for word.
– True. You don't seem to get many books along the lines of greatest football commentaries of all time.
– And besides, I'm pretty slow at writing.
– With a bit more practice...
– I mean, slow in terms of producing a final polished draft. I'm forever tweaking and correcting, moving sentences around, searching for the mot juste, the appropriately nuanced phrase. That sort of thing. So I could never keep up with a live game.
– You could try a post-match analysis.
– But then I'm watching the next game. It would all get too confusing.

Lost

– So you see, it's not the easiest thing to do: just to stop a stranger in the street and ask them "Where am I?"
– It's a simple enough question.
– But is it? It immediately conjures up alarming connotations. Am I suffering from a sudden bout of amnesia and have no idea how I appeared here? Perhaps I have managed to escape from agents of a foreign power who held me captive in an unknown location? Or even beamed back down to Earth following an alien abduction? None of these explanations are particularly reassuring.
– Or you could just tell them what actually happened?
– You mean that I was idly walking along the river, along a path that I had followed many times before, expecting it to lead me out near where I had started, only to find myself suddenly in the middle of a housing estate which had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere?
– You know, if you go easy on the details, perhaps you might be able to pull off the alien abduction.

Lettuce

– The great thing about this time of year is that you are not tied to the cooker: you can just throw a salad together and sit happily in the garden to enjoy the light evenings.
– Apart from the thunderstorms: there have been quite a few thunderstorms recently.
– Well, of course, you wouldn't particularly want to sit outside during a thunderstorm. Certainly not with a fork in your hand.
– And I still seem to be tied to the cooker when preparing salad.
– You're obviously doing something wrong.
– There was the quiche.
– Excellent eaten cold.
– And the potato salad.
– I suppose raw potatoes offer an interesting texture, but, yes, are probably even better cooked. But these things can be prepared ahead of time.
– When?
– Well, during the thunderstorms. Think of all the time you had this weekend for preparing potato salad, yet you wait till the sun is out.
– Perhaps I was uncertain whether the sun would ever come out again.
– Potato salad will always come in useful.
– But it is disheartening to be sitting indoors, watching the rain stream down the windows, with nothing to eat but cold potatoes in a soggy mayonnaise dressing.
– A handful of chopped chives also works well.
– I'll try and remember that.

Beach

Watching today's D-Day commemorations, it is sobering to think that seventy years has passed: a lifetime. And to think that the veterans returning to Normandy today were once young men in their teens and early twenties, thrown into the maelstrom of battle: some to meet their end on the beaches; others to survive and live out their remaining years haunted by the memory of those days.

My own life seems so uneventful, cosseted, in comparison: never being called upon to put my safety on the line, never being in a position where everything I know is crumbling away before my eyes. Looking through old wartime papers and photos belonging to my parents, I sometimes glimpse that world, but it is so far away from the life I lead. And all I have are scraps of clues, which hint at what once happened but leave out so much detail.

Penalty

– Not long now till it all kicks off.
– Sorry?
– The World Cup.
– Hence kicks off.
– Yes. I quite like to add a few colourful allusions as I go along. Makes the conversation sparkle. A bit.
– Of course. Yes, not long till it kicks off, as you say. The media seem a little subdued, perhaps, compared to previous tournaments.
– I think it is a reflection of a more realistic outlook.
– You mean no-one expects England to do very well?
– Yes. It sounds harsh, but perhaps it is preferable to the wild optimism of past campaigns.
– When we would convince ourselves at the start that we were certain winners, only to suffer the humiliation and shattered dreams of an early exit?
– Exactly. Whereas this way, any victory, no matter how humble the opposition or fluky the winning goal, will seem like an immense achievement, and we can hold our heads up high as we catch the early flight home.
– Sometimes in life it is better to be optimistic, even though you run the risk of failure and its associated heartbreak.
– Yes, but in this case the risk of failure is quite high.