Football, and The Things Dads Do

So I was on my way to the football in Plymouth this morning, on the train, when the Boy rings from Cornwall, saying he has a suspected broken ankle (trampolining accident), while camping. He is to be dropped off at the RD&E hospital in Exeter for a check up (his chums are driving on to Bristol and places north), and will require a lift home. With M away at the O2 Dome, watching the Nameless American Sex Dwarf, it is up to me to get back home, collect the car, and drive to Exeter, fortunately in several hours (as he is still down west). So after a couple of caches in Central Park, I go to the stadium, suffer the match, and, on receipt of a text saying he has arrived in Exeter, try to leave early to bag an earlier train home to get the car. First effort to leave was prevented by a steward who was unable to open the doors early (whatever happened to leaving early if the match is crap?). So I showed the text to a kindly policeman, who was not a jobsworth, and strode rapidly across the park to the station. Unfortunately there was a half hour wait for the "Virgin Holidaymaker" ("stay away from Aya Napa, my dear"), but catch it I did, with the intention of getting off at Newton Abbot, connecting to Teignmouth, and getting the car to collect the invalid. In the meantime, having been shown the door in an apparently brusque manner by the hospital, the Boy has limped the 200 yards to the bus stop and is coming home.
Unfortunately for me, the train is one of those Saturday specials that don't stop in the usual places, and I am whisked away to Exeter, past my house, to a city long since departed by the Boy.
Fortunately there is a quick connection back, and no ticket inspection, so I arrived home just as the fool was limping up the street on borrowed crutches (from his sister in town, arranged by me).
I feed him, give him tea, carry his (excessively heavy) luggage upstairs, provide him with paracetamol, even get the odd grunt of thanks.
Later, two of his lovely girl friends called by to take him to a party. They require vodka, reasonably enough, which, for once I am able to supply. So all seems right with his world. (And if he moans once more about not feeling up to going to the party, I shall take Meg and Nat myself;-)