On security

As an aside to the Dukla game, I would like to point out an alarming fact. You are never safe at a football match. You might think the bolt-headed goons at the gate will protect you but the alarming fact is they really are as stupid as they look.

Here is what I base this fact on.

To get to Dukla I had to undertake the following journey: Scuttle straight from work to H&M on Wenceslas Square to buy a lightweight raincoat that any normal person would already have had, having seen the forecast for the day was not that sunny and cheery; then jump on the metro to Hradcanska from where I would catch a bus to the stadium.

It was while waiting for this bus that I felt the first nip of autumn in this summer's evening and reached into my bag for my scarf. And found a small jar of green pesto.

This is a problem. Clearly any security man is going to take a dim view of me taking a small glass bottle filled with a slightly pungent green goo (you will notice how even in my diet I lean towards Bohemians green over any of that red shit) into the stadium.

But the problem arose because my local supermarket, Billa (in fact any Billa in Prague probably) has this somewhat oppressive tactic of making you BUY carrier bags, something that I, as a scatterbrain who didn't grow up under an oppressive regime, finds hard to adjust to. So, I usually end up stuffing as many of my purchases as I can into my bag, my pockets, my hood or down my trousers and carrying the rest.

Obviously when unpacking the items the night before, I had somehow overlooked the jar of pesto.

I didn't want to just throw it away. I mean, it was only 29Kc, but it had taken me four months to find the little hidden away bit on the shelf where Billa hid the green pesto, as it was. I decided to go for it. I secretly imagined myself, enraged in a fit of pique and throwing my jar of pesto onto the pitch and concussing a Dukla superstar.

Luckily, my manbag has two pouches and previous forays into football matches have taught me the knuckleheads only ever check the main one. So I shifted the jar into the smaller pouch.

In the queue for my ticket, I watched my particular knucklehead closely. He had a cap, a shiny earring and a bored expression. Regulations permitted him from the pat down on the women and all the blokes were carrying nothing more threatening than a camera phone. There wasn't even a slight chance of a ruckus for him tonight. Bohemians fans, notoriously are the only ones in Prague who smoke weed. Fuck do they wanna fight for? They are all about having a good time. So to stumble on a nerdish-looking fool clearly looking for some pesto-related trouble would have made his evening.

There was every chance he might dip his hand in my bag for a quick rummage and feel the glass bottle through the lining. It was a tense moment.

I spread 'em and let him pat me all over before he nodded at the bag. I unzipped and showed him the contents. One address book (cos I really am unable to keep everyone's details in my phone), one camera and one iPod. Oh, and an asthma inhaler. Yeah, this wheezy geek's not gonna be any bother.

And so, my potentially lethal bottle of green pesto came into and out of the stadium with me.

Security, eh? I could've killed someone with that.