I am told that if you walk into a bar alone in London without any plans to meet up with anybody, then you’re either crazy or weird. I wasn’t aware of this before I walked into a bar alone to watch the World Cup more than a month ago. I had only recently arrived in the city and wanted to catch the Germany-Spain match with some fellow German fans but couldn’t round up any friends to join me.
So I headed to a bar in the busy Leister Square area figuring that’s where I’d find some fans. I located a bar with the familiar black, red and gold colours flying outside, got myself a pint and sat down at a tiny table that had a great optical path to the TV. I got there quite early but it wasn’t long before the football fans started pouring into the bar. A couple asked if they could sit beside me and I consented.
Then the girl, whose name is Anna, asked, “Are you alone?”
I said, “Yea.”
To which she asked incredulously,”Where are your friends?!”
And I said,”Er, I just moved here…”
Then Anna graciously introduced herself and her friend, whose name I don’t remember anymore (Johnny? Freddie? Frankie?) and as might happen at any sporting grounds, we shared who we were rooting for and then spent the next 90 minutes or so cheering or screaming in frustration.
When the match was over, and Anna and I sat disappointed and her friend, Sammy or Ricky or something tried not to gloat, Anna asked if I was coming back for the final. I told her that I’d actually been invited for a World Cup BBQ at a friend’s house and couldn’t join her and Danny or Peter. She actually looked a little sad. And I almost felt obliged to come back. But as the fans cleared out of the bar and sanity returned, I said goodbye to my 90 minute friends and left.
