Come on, England…

I keep wondering how on earth it must feel to be one of those poor boys playing on the England football team today.

How utterly terrifying to know that the eyes of the world are on you, and that so many people are desperate for you to do a good job.

I can’t imagine how frightened they must be. At the time of writing it is still afternoon, and the die is uncast. Those poor boys, some of them even younger than Lucy,  will, as I write, be beside themselves with a head-spinning cocktail of excitement and anxiety. Of course the good wishes of the country go with them, but so too will the horrified criticism if anybody makes a careless mistake.

Sooner them than me…

It is still a couple of hours until the game of football actually starts, but the atmosphere is very peculiar. The town is filled with people making their way home, heading into bars so that they can be in place, ready for the kick off. Half of the restaurants are closing so that the staff can watch it, and appropriately, the sky is black with heavy thunderclouds. There is a feeling of something huge coming. I am not interested in football but excitement is crackling around the village along with the distant rumbles of thunder.

It will be empty here by eight o’ clock. We are not going to watch the football, because even if we wanted to of course we don’t have television. Nobody will want to get in a taxi, so I am going to go home then and pack up the camper van ready for our holiday.

The entire family has spent the day dashing about getting ready to go. Mark and Oliver have been mending all of our bikes and Lucy and I have been cooking.

We have cooked lots of things. We have made curry and a Turkish lamb-and-rice dish. We have made cheesecakes and chips, coconut prawns and sausages, and barbecued chicken and kebabs.

It does not sound very much now that I write it down, but it has kept us busy for the entire day.

The idea is that whilst we are away, instead of cooking huge dinners, and filling the sink with washing up and my holiday with tiresomeness, we will be able to spread a table with interesting cheeses and cooked meats and salads, and other nice things to eat.

This will be easy to do and not need very much clearing up afterwards.

Lucy put on one of my aprons and helped.

Google helped as well, setting alarms for things in the oven and playing Spanish dance music to encourage us along. I like having Google there, it is rather splendid just to yell instructions instead of faffing about setting the timer, and inevitably getting everything sticky whilst I am trying to do it.

It is now some time later. I have been back home and lugged today’s catering efforts into the ready-lit camper van fridge, and piled our clothes on the shelves. Then  came back to the taxi rank, where an eerie silence prevails. The world is silent and deserted, apart from the occasional muffled roar or sigh coming from nowhere and everywhere all around.

Even Tesco has closed.

We must be the quietest country in the world at the moment. I drove to Kendal not long ago and did not pass another single car. The whole country seems to be hushed.

I do not think I have ever minded about the result of a football match so much, or indeed, if I am honest, at all.

LATER NOTE:  It is all over, poor, poor England. In the end it was all so exciting that we stood together on the taxi rank, listening on the radio. This was a bit peculiar, because it was several seconds ahead of the television. We heard what was happening followed a few seconds later by an anguished – or delighted – roar.

I do not think it could possibly have been more nail-biting. It seemed to go on and on, until everybody’s nerves were drawn out to the absolute snapping point, and then suddenly, devastatingly, it was all over. Instead of a joyous dance of celebration, people trudged sadly out of the pubs, just at the moment when the skies opened and the rain hurtled down in torrents.

They stood on the pavements and waited patiently for taxis.

England did jolly well. It is a sad thing that they lost, but they did jolly well all the same.

Have a picture of the view from the taxi rank, because I don’t have any pictures of footballers.