Coming back from the British embassy, Zaid wanted to know whether British women liked football. His wife, he said, was always asking him. Some did, I told him. Brighton was my team. He's been to Brighton - he came in 1977, when he was five. He's a Liverpool fan. In his glove box is a picture of his four month old son Omar in Zaid's Liverpool shirt, the walls around him plastered with team posters and Michael Owen pictures. Liverpool were knocked out of the FA cup the other day, apparently, and he's not happy, but at least they won the Worthington Cup a couple of weeks ago, beating Manchester United. His wife is a Manchester United fan. She's got to get a new team, I tell him. Manchester United are just part of the capitalist machine.
I told him I used to live next door to the Newcastle United ground. Eyes alight, he said, "To St James Park? It's my dream, but next door to Anfield." If his wife could meet me, he said, she'd never stop talking to me about football. He asked how long I was staying in Iraq. About another three weeks, I said, was the plan.
"What will you do if the war starts?"
"Zaid," I said, honestly, "I don't know. What will you do?"
"I'll be on my roof, getting the view. I've seen it all before. So if you find you need anything, just call me."
I told him I used to live next door to the Newcastle United ground. Eyes alight, he said, "To St James Park? It's my dream, but next door to Anfield." If his wife could meet me, he said, she'd never stop talking to me about football. He asked how long I was staying in Iraq. About another three weeks, I said, was the plan.
"What will you do if the war starts?"
"Zaid," I said, honestly, "I don't know. What will you do?"
"I'll be on my roof, getting the view. I've seen it all before. So if you find you need anything, just call me."