It's the grand final, and the siren is due any moment. My team kick the ball, and it tumbles towards our goals. Our supporters cheer and roar, willing the ball to be straight and true, though some, like me, hold our breaths. A goal will win the game for our team. And we will be the champions.
Stevie was slumped on the living room sofa when his mum and dad returned home from the shops. Their raised voices drowned out the old gangster movie on the TV. “It’s junk,” Stevie’s mum snapped. “No it’s not,” his dad retorted, “it’s an antique. And a bargain. Only 30 quid!” Stevie slid down the sofa.