No-no-no-no-no . . . Yesvember

[El Gordo]

I did write something after the football but didn't get round to finishing it. (Story of my life.) Oh hang on, here it is....

[INDENT]It was a new one on me. A phone call from the medical centre on Monday morning, cancelling my appointment. “The doctor’s rung in sick”, I was told. A bit like the apocryphal sign on the restaurant door: CLOSED FOR LUNCH. I like these little conundrums. The good fortune of being knocked down by an ambulance. And so on.

Another paradox is the shambles that’s the England football team. It says it all that I celebrated wildly this evening (or as wildly as you can when you’re on your own in a hotel room, stone-cold sober) after Croatia scored their third, and decisive, goal at Wembley. Things have got so bad that we needed a public humiliation – and through our insistence on spurning every undeserved opportunity we’ve been handed – that’s what we got. It’s marvellous. We’ve officially failed, humiliated by incompetence at every level, both within and beyond the team. They say that alcoholics and drug addicts can only repair themselves after they’ve hit rock bottom, and that seems to apply to the national football team too. Hurrah! We’ve got there at last. What a relief.[/INDENT]

I still feel the same now, 5 days later. I'm pleased that we're not going to go through all that crap yet again next summer. The flags flying from every chavmobile across the nation; the tabloid jingoism; Frank F-ing Lampard; the metatarsal dramas; the surreal assumption that we'd win the tournament -- which would last right up until the quarter-final penalty shoot-out.

We're spared it all. How good does that feel?

Incidentally, I rearranged my doc's appointment for last Wednesday, and was essentially told that my various ailments were down to 'wear and tear', and there was no evidence of anything more serious. The guy seemed to know what he was talking about. Had been an orthopaedic specialist until recently. Beginning signs of osteo-arthritis in my hands, apparently, but no knobbly bits around my knee, which would have been telling, it seems.

I was told that running would probably do me more good than harm; that I should get back out there; and that I shouldn't be put off trying for Boston.

Bugger.