Newcastle, Sunday afternoon: my dad and I were watching the European Athletics Championships in Gothenburg. The 800 metres was almost finished: one Brit has been spiked and was completely out of the race, the other was boxed in and desperate to get free. In the last ten metres he managed to shove his way through the other athletes, and almost fell over the line into a bronze medal position.
Two minutes later, both British men were being interviewed, and I yelled excitedly, "Dad! Dad! I know that guy! He was really horrible to me!" It was none other than Sam Ellis, a Sheffielder, and good mates with my former housemates Olly and Tom. And while the other contender was disappointed beyond belief, Sam was swaying around in undisguised and slightly bewildered ecstasy.
TV truly authenticates experience.
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About Me
- Jess
- Serial ranter, writer and occasional creator of physical and musical things. Of North Eastern origin but resident in Sheffield.
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