Cornwall. 14th June 2014. 23.45pm – Half time.

Hazel, 94, turns to Barbara, 96.

HAZEL: The problem with Glen Johnson is that he doesn’t release quick enough.

BARBARA: Unlike me…

HAZEL: Ha. But yes, dear, he holds on for too long and just doesn’t let go fast enough. He doesn’t always lose it, but often it clips an Italian player or he just times it wrong. He just doesn’t release it easily.

BARBARA: Unlike me..

HAZEL: You said that, dear.

BARBARA: Hazel…

HAZEL: Mm?

BARBARA: I’ve shat myself.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

Cornwall. 14th June 2014. 20.00pm – Kick off.

Hazel, 94, sighs.

HAZEL: Such a shame Luis Suarez isn’t starting. He’s a bit of a plonker but he’s a genuinely world class player and that’s exactly what you want to see at the World Cup. He scores some cracking goals. You’d struggle to find a bad one out of the 31 he netted for Liverpool the season just gone. Plus he’s such a hard worker for the team, that’s clear from his 12 assists in the 2013-14 season, and he just doesn’t stop running. He would tear Costa Rica apart.

Barbara, 96, looks up from her iPhone, shocked.

BARBARA: Can you believe, Antony Costa is only 32? He looks at least 40.

HAZEL: …

BARBARA: Blue are shit.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

Cornwall. 14th June 2014. 16.45pm – 15 minutes before kick off.

Hazel, 94, smiles proudly at the bowls of homemade moussaka, hummus, tzatziki, tiropites, baklava, galaktoboureko, taramasalata, youvetsi, souvlaki, yemista, fassolakia lathera, tsoureki, keftethes and kourabiethes sitting on the living room’s coffee table. Barbara, 96, walks in and lies on the sofa, eying up the food.

BARBARA: Got any pita bread?

Hazel walks to Marks and Spencer.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

Cornwall. 13th June 2014. 23.50pm – Half time.

Hazel, 94, rubs her weary eyes. She looks at Barbara, 96, eight empty Fosters cans on her lap.

BARBARA: Chile

HAZEL: Yep

BARBARA: Chilly willy

HAZEL: Oh, are you cold?

BARBARA: Chilli con carne

HAZEL: Hungry?

BARBARA: Chilling

HAZEL: I’m going to bed.

Hazel walks up the stairs.

BARBARA: Chillax

HAZEL: Go to hell, Barbara.

Barbara vomits, multiple specks stick to her cork hat.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

Cornwall. 13th June 2014. 19.45pm – 15 minutes before kick off.

Hazel, 94, finishes tidying up the nachos and fajita mess from the day’s earlier game, pops on her Dutch clogs and sits on the sofa, excited to watch her Bowls Club sweepstake pick play reigning champions Spain.

Hazel hears the front door shut before Barbara, 96, enters the lounge with a 20-something, olive-skinned, dark-haired, muscly male. Hazel looks at her friend, confused.

BARBARA: Hazel, meet my young lover Miguel.

HAZEL: …

BARBARA: We met yesterday. I arrived outside our home after a dreadful game of bowls, my left hip in agony, and there, all skin and meat, I saw Miguel, his biceps glowing in sunshine; his smile lighting up our street; his eyes fixed on me. My knees trembled and my heart danced as I felt something I hadn’t felt for decades: Lust. With a capital L. I’m telling you, the afternoon was like a dream. A filthy, grubby dream. Miguel clutched me by the arm, dragged me in the house and had his wicked way with me. Rough, but gentle, his hands were everywhere, inside and out. Oh Hazel, he did things to me I never knew were possible.

HAZEL: wh…huh?

MIGUEL: (Pause) My name’s Michael, I’m Barbara’s new nurse-

BARBARA: SILENCE, MIGUEL! SILENCE!

MIGUEL: And I’m here to change her catheter, aren’t I Barbara?

BARBARA: Fine

MIGUEL: OK

BARBARA: (Pause) But look me deep in the eye whilst you’re doing it.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

Cornwall. 13th June 2014. 17.10pm – 10 minutes after kick off.

Hazel, 94, prods the arm of her sleeping buddy Barbara, 96, next to her on the sofa. Barbara’s eyes slowly open and fix themselves on the game. Barbara yawns.

BARBARA: Who’s this?

HAZEL: Mexico Vs Cameroon

BARBARA: Cameron?

HAZEL: Cameroon

BARBARA: Cameron?

HAZEL: Cameroon

BARBARA: Cameron?

HAZEL: Cameroon, dear.

BARBARA: Cameron?

HAZEL: Cameroon

BARBARA: Cameron?

HAZEL: CAMEROOOOON!

BARBARA: Cameroon… Who are they playing?

HAZEL: Mexico

BARBARA: And when’s Cameron coming over?

© Carl Burkitt 2014

Cornwall. 12th June 2014. 20.55pm – Five minutes before kick off.

Hazel, 94, places a bowl of Brazil nuts on the coffee table in anticipation for the opening game of the World Cup 2014, her Samba headdress knocking on the grey, low-hanging light shade. Hazel lifts her flowing, multi-coloured dress, cursing their 48-year-long World Cup tradition, and sits on the dusty, faded floral sofa, waiting for Barbara.

Barbara bows and sits beside her friend.

HAZEL: What’s with the outfit?

BARBARA: My team.

HAZEL: Hmm…?

BARBARA: Crow Asia.

HAZEL: …For fuck’s sake

© Carl Burkitt 2014