The bottom-shaped groove on my couch has begun to expand of its own accord. Like many Maritzburgers I was a lead contender for Olympic Gold in the couch potato and popcorn-munching marathon; however, things have started to change. Just this morning I noticed a slight film of dust on the TV remote, and I could have sworn I saw a little condensation sliding down the screen like a lone tear. Wednesday night is social soccer night at Carbineers. For those who know me, I don’t strike an imposing figure by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, there was speculation when I first started that if I suffered a major blow in play, a roll of sellotape would suffice to stick me back together until the ambulance arrived.