Procrastinate me? Of course. Fun today, fret tomorrow. Live by that. Carved a completely flat career out of it. Nevertheless, every rule has it's exception; the matter simply so pressing,even I have to get my buns a-rollin. Saturday night for instance.

I'd found out that an American friend of mine had had a baby on Friday. I had to get in there fast; obviously with the congratulations, but also to stake a claim on which Soccer team this bonny young man might end up supporting should he get an eye for the game. That's my team, the band of brothers I've followed through thick but mostly thin for all of my life. Unfashionable, dogged, plain old Sheffield United.

Get in there quick before the snake charmers start weaving their spells and chanting their incantations about Man Utd or Chelsea. My friend, you see, knows a lot of Brits and I can't run the risk of them seeding this young man's head with thoughts of glamorous, aristocratic, boutique sides like the ones just mentioned. My team needs supporters, deserves them. We do, we do...

And I did it, I got in there before anyone else. So when his youngest young 'un is eighteen, seeing the UK for the first time, and me in my sixties,we'll catch a game together. The old order showing the new. I feel like Obi Wan Kenobi passing on immortal, immutable truths. Or as I really hope, I'll have a body like Iggy Pop does at sixty one, ripped and muscular, and be out on the town with him instead.