When compiling the review of 2019, the poor unfortunate junior journalists landed with the tedious task will more than likely immediately focus on the fourth week of July, writes YEP columnist Blaise Tapp.
There can be very little doubt that last week was one which will last long in the memory. For some, it will be the glorious week that the blond saviour of the Right, or as one columnist described him, Brexit’s Churchill, rode into Downing Street to claim his birthright. To others, it was seven days to forget: when a politically toxic hybrid of Benny Hill and Fozzie Bear cheerfully bumbled his way to the very top of British Establishment, setting us on an irreversible collision course with social and economic Armageddon.
Whatever your view of Boris Johnson, the manner of his anointment and the subsequent high drama which followed rivalled anything put out by Netflix or the BBC in recent years.
Then there was the weather. The hottest July day on record had the less hardcore among us begging for rain while train tracks buckled and ice cream sellers afforded themselves a rare smile. Whether or not you were reaching for the baby oil in order to top up the tan or were doing something unspeakable with a family bag of Sainsbury’s frozen vegetable medley in a vain attempt to cool down, you won’t forget last Thursday and its Saharan temperatures in a hurry.
In the Tapp household, however, last week took on a special significance for a completely different reason, as I took my son to his first ever professional football match. The footy fans among you will know what a big deal the first match is - it is up there with the first pint, bar mitzvah and debut at the Bullingdon Club, if you are that way inclined.
Not that my nipper will remember a great deal about his first trip to a game, given that he is a fortnight off his fourth birthday but the trick for parents who are devoted to lower league clubs is to get their offspring hooked while they are too young to know any better. Leave it too late and the danger is that they have their head turned by the bright lights of the Premier League. Before you know it, they will be talking to their pals about their well-groomed idols and wearing a replica shirt with the names Salah or, even worse, Aguero, printed on the back. If you want the tradition to be passed to the next generation, it is imperative that the brainwashing begins early, which is precisely why his sister and I chose a pre-season friendly in Crawley for my lad’s first Portsmouth match.
Needless to say, his first time out was a hit and it won’t be long before he is a regular. While many will remember late July 2019 for the political whirlwind that visited us all, there is a little lad who will appreciate the significance of the date for a completely different reason.