3rd July 2006
â€˜Twenty million England flags for sale. Hardly usedâ€™ ran an advert in the newspaper. â€˜Fifty million bottles of celebratory champagne, now surplus to requirements, going cheap, ran another. â€˜Twenty million dogs kickedâ€™ said a headline. â€˜Baden-Baden shopkeepers in tears as England Wags leave for homeâ€™ shouted another. These were some of the thoughts running through my head as The Trouble and I watched the England v Portugal match limp towards a penalty shoot out and another inevitable cave-in by our boys in whatever colour David Beckham had decided weâ€™re playing in for this match. Well the football was never going to fully occupy my mind, was it?
â€œWhy do they never go to the lavatory?â€ said The Trouble, out of the blue.
Obviously I wasnâ€™t the only one who had found the football hadnâ€™t been of sufficient quality to keep my mind from wandering off to more interesting subjects. I thought about it for a moment. â€œWell itâ€™s a question of the toilets,â€ I finally said, the voice of authority.
â€œThe toilets?â€Â This with a puzzled look.
Â â€œYes. As is the case with most public toilets nowadays you have to pay to get in at football ground toilets. And where would the players keep their money?â€
The Trouble mulled this over for a moment or two, then said: â€œPerhaps they could carry one of those man handbags that are becoming popular.â€Â
â€œOf course they could my sweet. They could put them down on the pitch and play round them like women dance round their handbags at discos. Even better, theyâ€™ve no need to bother with man handbags at all, they can borrow one of their wives and girlfriends many handbags and carry those, they play like a load of women anyway so they might as well.â€
â€œWomen would play better than theyâ€™ve been doing, said The Trouble.â€
I couldnâ€™t argue with this, and didnâ€™t.