ENGLAND 3 EGYPT 1

My much beleaguered England sorted out the Egyptians last night and what a night it was. Especially for me.

The game started with all the hype I expected, due not only to the usual hysteria which accompanies all of England's matches, but the hullaballoo surrounding Mr Terry. As the teams waited in the tunnel like well kept, well fed gladiators the camera clung to the expressionless chops of John Terry. What the hell he does off the turf should be of no interest to anyone other than his nearest and dearest. But we are, as a nation, keenly, almost obsessively interested in what our multi-millionaires do when the lights go down. I, however, am not. The only part of Mr Terry's life I'm keen to know about is what he'll do in England's World Cup games. It's true that his indiscretions may well impact on his ball skills, but I very much doubt it.

The game started with the boring Egyptian anthem followed by our equally boring dirge, I did notice however that it was only John Terry who bellowed the dreadful lyrics, the other guys mouth's barely opened. So well done to you my stained patriotic friend.

When Egypt scored I felt what I always feel when Johnny foreigner kicks our arse, sadness and rage, and a woman at my time of life shouldn't give a home to those devils. So as I watched the whooping visitors and listened to the pessimistic commentators I sucked another toffee.

Crouchy was called upon by God, a.k.a Fabio Capello to go out and rally the lads. He not only rallied his team mates, he did a little something for me too, his fabulous goal had me jerking and writhing in my seat, so pleased and relieved was I that I felt like crying. This is what England does to me. Not only blasted footie games but everything about the country...But we won't go there today...

So lean and lengthy Crouchy got us back in the game and this was quickly followed by a nut of a goal from super midget Sean Wright-Philips. There's something about that boy which I love, maybe it's his ability to get me breathing again, I don't know, but whatever it is, I bow before him. Then, as the Egyptians ran amok, Crouchy slammed another in, leaving me feeling all warm inside.

God, how much longer I thought, the ref who looked like a alien smashing colonial marine with a state-of-the-art-microphone taped to his bald head decided on three minutes of extra play. And those three minutes, my dear reader, felt like thirty.
Always in my head, even when we're ahead, is the ice cold fear that the opposition will become supermen and whack in three more goals in rapid succession.
But they didn't.
We won.
And I'm sure Fabio Capello was as chuffed as I was.