Behind the Fences

Friday night story
It was one day during my first year of university that the Central Saint Martins Graphics gang were going down to East London to play footie after class. I only said I’d come along because I wanted to take photos.

Well, at first, I said I’d go into the fields, but I wasn’t entirely sure. It was bloody freezing. I didn’t want to get smacked on the head with a football, and I certainly would have probably been knocked over as well by these lads running around.

So I stayed where I’d meant to stay – behind the fences.

My lens was small enough to peek through the holes, but sometimes they got in the way. I’d run up to the north side to photograph the lads kick the ball up to the goal post. They were too fast sometimes.

I was thinking that I’m not one to play footie; I wasn’t very good at in school (I preferred soft ball) and I only remember our P.E. teacher Mr. O’Hara teaching us to ‘tackle’ and ‘dribble’. And then there’s the World Cup which I’ve always enjoyed cheering for the home team.

None of the other girls played anyway, except Teresa. Sunny was the only other girl who tagged along. She too stayed behind the fences and we spoke conversations as the game went on.