Broken heart

Another sad Saturday in my 11-year support of Falkirk FC. Another afternoon in The Summer Fayre Stand suffering another awful performance at The Falkirk Stadium, or Westfield, or whatever. It will never be our home. Our hearts still belong to Brockville. Which is now a supermarket. After the match we made our pilgrimage along Hope Street (Boulevard of Broken Dreams?), melancholy memories floating through our souls, tears in our eyes: parent-and-child turnstiles, B&H on the terraces, old geezers, singing from the Shed, Everton, Crunchie, Jazza, Sammy, Owen, going on the park, The End... Lager was the only way to stem the sadness.