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: 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: Oof, bloody wind. Get what?
© Carl Burkitt 2014