World Cup

The first world cup I remember was 1966. Rosemary and I cycled up and down Hill Road in Preston instead of watching the game. Four years later it is the treat of being allowed to watch the game from Mexico in bed, in colour, in the morning [all three things were new to me, as was England loosing to Germany]

At school in 1974 we all watched as England failed to qualify due to a great Polish goalkeeper. I remember not being too bothered.

1978 I was revising for University exams in the sunshine at Forest Side in Windermere. Watching the games with my father was a good way to contrast the revision.

1982 Mark, Marie and I watched Germany batter their way past the beautiful multi-racial French team of Giresse, Tigane and Tresor. The horror of Schumacher's assault of Battiston still lives on. After the game we went across the road to commiserate with the French barmaid in the pub.

1986 I was moving into my first house in Tottenham. The black and white telly was on in the bare corner of the stark bedroom. England were terrible.

1990 I was playing badminton when England were playing Germany in the semi-finals. On the way back home I called in at Rob's to see how it had gone; just in time for the fateful penalties.

1994 I had a houseful watching the final, Brazil Italy.

1998 Danielle Rowan and I had just moved to York. Exhausted we got into bed to watch England Argentina, and fell asleep. We awoke to endless replays of Beckham's petulant kick and Sol's disallowed goal.

2002 We again moved house [notice a pattern here] this time Beckham scored his penalty against Argentina just as I was unpacking in the kitchen

2006 Mark Rob and I watched the first day in Rob's club in Shaftesbury Avenue with a basketful of cold beer in front of us.

2010. Starts today...