Gripped in the pocket of my Adidas joggers was a little stack of stickers with an elastic band around it. Flicking down the edge of the bundle with my finger I would glance at the huddle of boys trading the hottest commodity in the playground with a nervousness that was enough to hold me back from even trying to join in.
I could play football, sure, that was the easy part, but could I talk their talk, did I know football? Of course I did. I watched it, I played it, I read the back pages, but it never felt like I belonged. And so, my little stack of swaps remained unswapped, shinies unshared, and my pocket money was depleted week on week as I spent it desperately trying to accrue my missing targets, never completing a book.
