Cornwall. 23rd June 2014. 21.10pm – 10 minutes after kick off.

Hazel, 94, is sat on the living room sofa with Barbara, 96, watching the Brazil game on ITV.

Hazel giggles.

HAZEL: Hey, Barbara. What did the confusing horse say when his mum asked if he wanted a player’s name on the back of his Brazilian shirt?

BARBARA: I dunno, what did the confusing horse say when his mum asked if he wanted a player’s name on the back of his Brazilian shirt?

HAZEL: NEYMAR! Hehehe.

BARBARA: Good choice.

HAZEL: Hehe- wait, what?

BARBARA: He’s a good player.

HAZEL: No it’s-

BARBARA: I’d probably get Neymar on my shirt.

HAZEL: No Bar-

BARBARA: I didn’t know they sold football shirts for horses.

HAZEL: They don’t, it’s a-

BARBARA: Would they wear shorts too?

Hazel tuts and turns the channel to ITV 4 to check out Croatia vs Mexico.

BARBARA: Eurgh, Modric, what an ugly bastard. Now if my mum asked me if I wanted his name on my shirt I’d say “NO MA!”

Hazel stares at Barbara, waiting for it to sink in.

Barbara pauses and grins.

HAZEL: …You get it?

Barbara farts.

BARBARA: Oof, bloody wind. Get what?

© Carl Burkitt 2014