An inconsequential tale of football folk, coincidence and life in (and outside) the law …
Ten years ago, I met a man on holiday in Peru who turned out to be a judge.
He thought I was cool because on the day of the group’s homeward bound departure, I let everyone else take the tour company bus and stayed behind to watch Sunderland v Leeds (in Spanish) in the hotel before racing to the airport by cab to catch up. We lost 2-1.
We became friends and I came to think of him as even cooler, especially for a judge, because we shared obscure musical tastes: Bert Jansch, John Renbourn, Sandy Denny and the like. And as well as sharing my fondness for football and leftish political ground, he had a most unjudgely T-shirt showing a boy aiming a peashooter at a car (slogan: Lee Harvey Oswald aged three).




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