In what has turned out to be a fairly triumphal week I did indeed manage to write about Bradford City in my AKC paper, offering myself a self-congratulatory pat on the back as my pen scrawled across the page prattling on about how Durkheim's concept of "the sacred" could well be applied to its beleagured fanbase (my chaplain said it was relevant, and he is someone whose views on faith and football I trust implicitly). I also managed to have three of my "audience question" answers read out at The Now Show's recording last night, and will be perhaps unjustifiably joyful should they make the final cut. Earlier in the week I discovered that my church has its own cat, Sylvester. Not only that, he is apparently contactable by email. Frankly it's all a bit too exciting.

It's about to get a whole lot more exciting, too, because tomorrow I'm going to Bournemouth - yes, BOURNEMOUTH - to watch the Mighty Bantams take on... well, Bournemouth, obviously. OK, so perhaps this isn't quite a titanic clash comparable to, say, Barca vs Real Madrid, or Manchester United vs AC Milan, or even, if I'm honest, Huddersfield vs Preston Northend. But still, it's all relative, and I don't get out much. Bournemouth are good (well, again, it's all relative - when I say "good" I mean they're third in the table and thus tipped for promotion, and didn't end up with a draw in the last game as a result of two own goals.) More to the point, we drew with them last time, having as we do this habit of doing rather well against teams that are far better than us (we beat top-of-the-league Rochdale) and spectacularly badly against the likes of Barnet and Accrington Stanley. (Who are they?)

So here I am trying to second-guess Peter Taylor, wondering if he'll play James Hanson and wondering if it's very wrong to secretly kinda fancy James Hanson given that he looks about twelve. And I'm wondering what I'm going to wear, for this is no ordinary match. Oh no. My dad has secured, for reasons I don't quite understand but haven't questioned, posh tickets (as far as such a thing exists) for a pre-match four-course meal and half-time coffees etc. This means I have to hob-nob with Bournemouth fans; it also means I can't wear my replica shirt; it also means there is a dress-code, Bournemouth Hospitality People obviously thinking they're the management of Chinawhites, which states that I can't wear trainers or jeans. (HUH?!? IT'S A FOOTBALL MATCH!!!!!) So yes. I'm going to watch Bradford in a smart skirt and blouse. Um.

So on many levels, we'll see how that all goes. In the meantime I may email Sylvester the Cat and canvass his opinion on the subject.