They went to Rome to see the pope, and this is what he said...

Did the Pope quit because of S***s?

According to the popular song, S***s frequently visit the Pope, and he has to ask who, exactly, they are (after a fashion) and then tell them where to go (in a short, curt way). Did Bennie get fed up with them repeatedly bothering him?

The lotus position

I've had rice tea-bags tonight. Rice with mushroom, spring onion, cha sui pork, minced pork with five spice, Chinese sausage, and soy and fish sauce and sesame oil and sushi vinegar. All steamed wrapped in a lotus leaf, giving it a freshwater, lightly smoky overtone.

There's a lifetime's supply of dry lotus leaves in the garage. The Chinese grocer's shelf markings are often unreliable, and usually in Chinese with just the price in numbers. £2.70? For enough to thatch a sizeable hut? They filled three-quarters of the trolley. They grow big, you know, your lotus leaves. Nervous of the cost (£2.70 each?) I got them scanned at the checkout. £2.20. Special offer.

“All these?”

“Yep.”

The kitchen lacks a storage facility for large amounts of huge freshwater plant leaves. So they live in the garage until I buy too much pork belly, make cha sui, and decide the leftovers demand using up in these steamed parcels.

Vintage shinpads and the dustbin legs syndrome

Our old shinpads were timber based. Sheets of plastic had sewn sleeves, into which went dowel rods. Plastic, cotton or nylon thread, and wooden rods. They could not remotely mould themselves to the shape of anyone's legs.

They were tucked into thick, woollen socks. There was more matter in one of those socks than in a modern kit, shirt, shorts and socks.

Between the huge, ridged, clumsy pads and the thick woolly socks, from the knee down your legs resembled dustbins in shape. This wasn't so bad for short, stocky players. For the tall and lanky there was that “oy, got yer legs on upside down mate?” thing. Dustbins suspended from threads.

No, I never played in those boots that went up to the ankle and had leather studs, and yes, I did play with those balls with laces in and yes they did cut your forehead, but nowhere near as frequently as some old folk claim. However, they did soak up water, become very heavy, and heading the things did require some bravery or stupidity, because it was like voluntarily taking a head shot from a decent light heavyweight.

The garden foxes...

...were playing or scrapping right by the back door tonight. Why do animals that must be close to dogs in evolutionary terms make a noise like an excited seagull under attack? They're in great nick, lovely-looking creatures.