Kia Ford Attending The English Premiere Festivities

Discarding the toolbelt, mountain climbing equipment and butler tuxedo attire, the Peacock rock n roll concert tee shirt apparel, shocked Kia Ford emerging from the bedroom.

“Well, you seem ready for a night on the town,” commented the all-American star-spangled banner mover and shaker.

“As they say in some parts, Miss Ford, you never walk around,” the Peacock greeted, offering a formal escorting gesture. Accepting, Kia Ford continued listening, “and we are off to the Field.”

“Anfield, that is,” Kia Ford finished the thought, as the Peacock ensured the tickets were securely fastened in the tight wallet position.

It did not take long, and the dramatic duo ended up inside the legendary confines noticing everyone wearing red sox.

“Not white bobby sox,” the Peacock referenced.

“Red,” Kia Ford paused, “Sox.”

Finding an unoccupied outfield open grassy plot, the two sat down and waited patiently for competitive action.

While relaxing, an impromptu sighting occurred, when a young individual scurried through the crowd, “where are you going? Diego,” the fatherly voice screamed.

“I want a good seat,” Diego answered.

“Diego just got a goal,” the Peacock observed watching the intrepid child, reach the front row.

“That he does,” Kia Ford responded.

During the near two-hour including intermission musical experience, Kia Ford pondered her Great Britain residency, “I have no goals,” she quietly confessed, as the Peacock focused the binoculars.

“We are the Reds, and we are great,” the crowd serenaded themselves.

Removing herself, Kia Ford left the scene, finding the snack bar were travelling wolf groupies, enjoyed their table placement.

“Just like me,” Kia Ford surmised, “they are close to relegation and still know how to have fun.”

“We are not even going there,” one of the wolves shouted and Kia Ford read lips, “there is plenty of room between us, and them.”

“That is right, saint foxes and truckers are going down a level, same loading dock,” Kia Ford remembered, recounting what made her name back in the states.

Returning, Kia Ford laughed realizing the Peacock lip-synched lyrics, “We are not going there,”

“I see you are having fun,” Kia Ford observed.

“I am,” the Peacock confirmed, “cruising to the oldies.”

Suddenly, the whole venue went silent, and the lead band’s singer came to the microphone, “News came to me,” he proclaimed, “the United west ham, Kia Ford is in the building.”

Smiling, feeling welcome, Kia Ford enjoyed the pleasant announcement, “so Kia Ford, I have a goal for you.”

“You see, Peacock, the boys in the band want to give me a goal,”

“That is nice of them,” Kia Ford appreciated the act, “but honestly, they can afford leveling with you, on top of that they also have enough points to afford elite mountain climbing equipment.”

“Kia Ford, this one is for you,” the boy in the band proclaimed, “here’s to you Mr. Robertson.”

“Whose Mr. Robertson?” The Peacock inquired.

“Elenor Rigby’s Uncle,” Kia Ford grinned.

Suddenly, the pair’s flowing celebration quickly got its water plugged, when the spotlighted acknowledgement truth revealed its reality.

“Is that it?” The gimmick master Kia Ford expected something more theatrical.

“Kia,” The Peacock prepared to leave, “that little Diego earlier told the band, and the headlining boy got two goals and three points, and they were able to write off a goal to you as a donation, since they really didn’t need the huge scoring difference.”

“I’ve been had,” Kia Ford stomped her foot, “now what?”

“According to your schedule,” stretching vocal cords the Peacock reported, “the Saints are marching in.”

“They are relegated? Right?” Kia Ford requested clarification.

“Which means they have nothing,” the Peacock warned, “be careful.”