Bovril & Boots


There is something incredibly atmospheric and evocative for me about evening football matches, specifically winter evenings.  I think that the coldness and crispness created by the falling temperatures seems to magnify smells and noises.  The sizzle and smell from the burger vans is such that it would tempt a well fed vegetarian to take a gamble.  Little boys wrapped up in hats, scarves and gloves scurry along holding their dads hand excited as they know that they will be up past normal bedtime, and on a school night as well.  The sense of anticipation as you approach the ground is heightened and the glow from the floodlights is almost like a portal beckoning you in to another world.  Once inside the ground the shouts of the players seem amplified and the effort expended is evident from the trails of steam and vapour breath drifting into the night sky.  I was reminded of all this recently when I went down to Alfreton to watch my Newport County do battle.  Forget your over hyped millionaires this is what football is all about and of course the most evocative smell of all is neither victory or defeat but a cup of steaming hot Bovril


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