The Carson House Elite

Saturdays are my favourite day of the week. My sons football match is usually around 9am, and has rapidly become the highlight of the footballing weekend fixtures. Screaming from the touchlines, and regularly witnessing them overturning a  deficit to win have been the order of the day over the last few weeks.
The dog, waiting patiently in the boot of the car throughout, is usually rewarded with a walk in the woods, which doubtless never feels long enough to her to justify the boredom and anticipation she endures beforehand. But then no walk under 15 miles would satisfy her springer enthisiasm, so we generally have a 20 minute whip round the woods before Ignacio moans us into submission and return.
Then there is usually some distraction to get us through to early evening, which can vary from mundane shopping excursion for kids shoes/wallpaper/going out tops to re-plastering the ceiling of the cellar etc etc. But then around 4pm the fun really starts, as I settle down to the Saturday papers and the children make preparations for the tele-fest that is Strictly and X-Factor. Neither really hold my attention, but as a family we have settled into a happy equilibrium of them no longer listening to my mundane anti-contrived-tv rants because I am allowed to check the fantasy football scores and read Tim Dowling's weekly sketch uninterrupted.
Beer flows freely and without critical sarchastic comments from either the wife or children, and a roaring fire usually accompanies the televisual feast. If I am lucky, everyone has fallen asleep by 10:30 so that Match of the Day is interrupted, but usually the free-flowing beer rule means that I am one of those who are utterly satisfied and dozing.