Way back, when my woman announced that she was heading to China to teach English, I was torn.

It was an act of dire desperation. Our erratic Eden, where we somewhat shunned the spirit of Madness that dwelled upon the water, was finally in ashes. It was always just a matter of time before the serpent backed us into a tindery corner with a hard spark in its eye. Yea, the heavens faltered and angels fell, but we dared not heed the signs. Swiftly running out of money and work in that truest jewel of all False Bay, we tried instead to live off love. This is not an exercise I can recommend to doe-eyed sweethearts anywhere. A word to the wise: once poverty kicks in the front door, romance gets the hell out back. And there’s no way to valiantly dash after it on an empty stomach, Romeo. The spirit’s willing, but the flesh… Oh Lord, the flesh.

On the one hand, I was eerily relieved at the prospect of our financial woes being remedied, even if that meant my soulmate stoically packing her bags for the far side of the world. Something had to be done to save what was left of the Beautiful Game, and as always, she was the one who stepped up to the plate, swinging wild and free, while I lay snared between the cheap sheets.