I went to a football match. I used to go to the ground regularly when I was small, but the guy my dad went with, and took me and his son too, killed himself in a drink/drive incident in about 1979 and dad never really fancied it after that.
We went once in a while, but not often.
So the 3rd round of the FA Cup was a good excuse to go. Tickets were available, cheaper than usual, my cousin was going and she'd been badgering me to go for about 3 years.
I drove up on the morning and dropped the car with my dad. Then she picked me up and we headed into the city. Walked around the ground, bought pies, chatted about family, football, the old days and stuff like that.
We screamed and sang and chanted and laughed through the game. We stumbled back to the car and then to a proper pub in the city to meet her husband. Their friends arrived, we ate burgers, and drank beer - well, her hubby didn't he was the nominated driver - and just bullshitted like mad.
And it was good.