On Saturday morning, with something of a hangover due to going out with some very dubious company on Friday evening, I teetered up to Delhaize on my newly rehabilitated high heels pulling my shopping trolley, sporting my Vuarnet giant blackout glasses and looking a bit like Tina Turner after three pints of Special Brew, through my leafy suburb of Brussels (I won’t name it for fear of bringing on the Peter Mayle effect), the peace and quiet shattered only momentarily by the sound of my gin bottles crashing into the bottle bank.
I smiled indulgently at the single flag hanging out of a window in my street. A St George’s Cross, of course. I do not subscribe to this myth that all women detest football. I like a good body swerve as much as the next girl. However, there is a limit to my tolerance of the beautiful game, and I think I’ve got close to it. I switched on Radio 4 for some light relief. What caressed my shell-like ears? CRICKET! The dulcet tones of Henry Blofeld lulled me almost into a trance. He’s certainly mellowed since he was the villain in the James Bond films, hasn’t he? I wonder if he still has the cat.
I’ve got World Cup fever now. I still don’t understand the offside rule, but I think the national anthems are spiffing. The Italians and the Brazilians sounded like they were singing a chorus from a Grand Opera. Makes “God Save the Queen” sound like a bit of a dirge.
There must be a better national anthem for sporting events. 
Something stirring, inspiring, glorious and triumphant, which will spur our boys and girls on to greatness, recalling past victories and filling them with pride and love for our sceptr’d isle, poetic and moving, motivating and energizing, dignified and solemn. Something with the gravitas of the Russians, the pomp of the Americans, and the flourish of the Champions League song (which always sounds like it finishes on the word “Lasagne!”).
How about “O come all ye faithful”?
Bert is of course away in Germany for the duration of the World Cup. Did you see him on the pitch at the opening ceremony? He was the fourteenth pair of lederhosen in the seventh row. I’m supporting several teams this year: Poland, of course, for old time’s sake. France, increasingly reluctantly (especially since the exquisite Mr Cissé now won’t be playing). Ghana, my outside chance. Australia, for the relatives in Queensland. Germany, because of Bert. Oh yes, and England. My money’s on an England-Germany final. And ve vill vin.
I have just done one of those 50-things-to-do-before-you-die things. Under pressure from Millicent Tendency, I have joined a trade union! I can’t tell you which one, but if you know anything about Belgian unions, let’s just say that green suits me better than red. I do hope they don’t have any more demos like last year. Walking through the centre of Brussels dressed in a bin-bag is not going to do much for my gravitas. And as for blowing a whistle – I’ll just rattle my pearls as loud as I can, that’s the best I can manage.I’m obviously not a natural revolutionary, but my maxim echoes Voltaire – “I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it”. Well not DEATH, obviously. But the odd clenched fist and a bit of shouting. Let it not be said that I don’t know the meaning of the word solidarity.
I owe Millicent Tendency an apology for mocking her claims that Big Brother is watching all of us. Vi Hornblower informs me that my blog no longer pops up on Google. Proof if any were needed that the shadowy Powers That Be are not only monitoring my piercing insights into life, marriage and the search for the perfect doily, but that I have been gagged!! I am on the phone to Amnesty International as I write this. How on earth can they perceive a fluffy kitten like moi as a threat to national security? This almost certainly has something to do with my post from last August “Women of Mass Destruction”. Or perhaps the mention of Omar Sharif in my birthday piece. (He is a Moslem, isn’t he?) I had been thinking about a holiday in Cuba, but not in an orange boiler suit, it really clashes with my colouring.Au secours, readers! Free the Brussels one!
I've just done my "celebrity face match" on My Heritage (as recommended by Raised by Chaffinches) and these are the nearest matches to my fizzog:
KYLIE !!!! (Down, boys)
Catherine Zeta-Jones
Kim Basinger
This would be good news, only the nearest matches to the rest of me are likely to be somewhere between Peggy Mount and Hyacinth Bucket. Still, you never know, might be somebody's idea of a winning combination.
