Everything stops at 4:30 p.m.
England v Kazakhstan.
There'll be no doing of dinner, no blogging and no artistic capers of any kind. I will be sitting on my falling-to-bits-settee with Monty on me lap and waving a little flag. Monty will huff and puff as his bulky fat frame gets shot in to the air any/every time Fabio's boys gets within shooting distance of the Kazakhanstani goal.
Brittania's in a flap already!
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