Still more than a fortnight to go to the World (yawn!) Cup and I'm sick of it already. It seems that the hucksters can link any product to this competition, from haemorrhoid cream to rosary beads. Every other advert on the telly has a football reference. How these promoters of any old thing love the beautiful game. How they love throwing bucketfuls of money at spoilt millionaires in return for a stupid grin. I hate them all; players, officials, journalists, hucksters, all trying to persuade me that they care. Why am I not convinced?
The most important contribution that we the public can make to this celebration of talent, determination, patriotism, and actual bodily harm, is to purchase and consume gallons and gallons, litres and litres, of BEER (preferably of non-UK origin). We must drink and drink, stagger about shouting Engulund, Engulund, and causing alarm and despondency by urinating alfresco. Some of my neighbours are already getting some serious training in. I just hope they don't peak too early.