I have never been in the least way sporty, which considering my family is probably bizarre, they are all passionate about sport.
My mother’s skill on the hockey pitch is legendary, my father hunted and sailed with great enthusiasm, as the youngest of the seven siblings I alone did not excel either on the rugby field, the tennis court or, in the case of my sisters, the hockey pitch.

How far this decision came out of a fear of not living up to family expectations, a certain want of athletic skill, or just lack of interest , I will never know now.

My father made a great effort to interest me in sailing when I was young, going so far as to buy me a small sailing boat, a Cadet, which my brother Ted and I took out once, capsized about 10 times in Cork harbour, came home wet cold and miserable and swore never again.

It was all the more surprising when, much later in my life I became addicted to the sailing novels of Partick O Brian.
These books were written with so much passion and humour that I was totally carried along through all twenty something of them and have read them all through several times.
I would have thought that my resistance to field games was made of sterner stuff.
My secondary schooling was in Christian Brothers College in Cork,one of the great nurseries of Rugby skills, where it playing the game was compulsory.
I managed to totally ever avoid playing the game there throughout my secondary schooling by skilful use of “silence exile and cunning” the exile bit being more commonly known in Cork as; “going on the lang”.
While we lived in Kent a waiter in the restaurant we worked, a passionate West Ham supporter, when he discovered the gap in my education, insisted on bringing me to a game in Upton Park where, I must admit, I found the whole ritual of being a fan was fascinating.

Several years ago I came across the Italian books of Tim Parks, An Italian Education, and Italian Neighbours both of which I very much enjoyed (I wish I could say the same about his fiction which leaves me cold.)

When a couple of weeks ago I found myself in well stocked second hand book shop how could I resist A Season with Verona by Tim Parks even when I realised that it was not really a travel book, nothing about Opera (my initial presumption) but about Parks obsession with the Verona football team, Hellas Verona, and his attending every match, home and away in the year 2001.
Passion is a small word for the affection Parks lavishes on this team during the course of the year, and he communicates this perfectly to the reader.
Of course in the minute examination of the football year much information is also released about Italy and the Italians.
There is so much animosity between the various parts of Italy, particularly between north and south, that it makes you wonder if Garabaldi’s unification wasn’t rather looser than we think.

The fans of Verona become Parks brothers for the year, he even dedicates the book to them, and as the year progresses, and Hellas face the very real prospect of relegation to Serie B you begin to realise that the book is a true cliff hanger.
Get it, read it and enjoy it.