Restricted view

Portugal in Deptford

Oh, what's the point?

Argy Bargy

Goodbye sweepstake money. And I had mentally already spent that £27.

Only sorry that we have been made to wait so long for a good on-pitch tussle. I love it when the beautiful game is sullied like that.

Weird football fans

England football fans in Germany supporting Germany to win against Argentina. Hearing them sing 'Lu, Lu Lukas Podolski' on Radio 5 this morning was too funny.

Then there were those dreadful posh schoolgirls cluttering up Cannon Street. Overhead one of them say 'oh really, Victoria I have faith in us to win'.

Overwhelming desire to box her ears.

Ecuador in Billericay

It's just not the same watching the World Cup in England and that's all there is to it.

Once there were 'plastic punks' - those people who spiked up their hair at the weekend and worked as bank clerks during the week. I consider all these men in pubs wrapped in flags and drinking lager to be plastic football fans.

There was a scuffle in the pub at the end of the match - and we seemed to be at the centre of it. It was my first experience of World Cup violence!

Ray Mears' campsite

Let me take you back to the Frankfurt campsite - a park with portaloos and 4 cold running showers in a hut. Full of nude, fat men. When I took myself off to the shower on match day I had to put myself in a cubicle surrounded by these chaps. As I was brushing my teeth, I started a conversation with the chap next to me - he DID have an Aston Villa tattoo.

I said, I bet when we leave this campsite, I will find out that there are wonderful womens' facilities 50 yards away, with steaming hot showers and a jacuzzi. 'Oh, love, there ARE womens' facilities in the administration tent. Go in there and you will find a vacuum cleaner and a cooker'.

My new room-mate

Being quite selfish, I don't really like to share my personal space. I like to spread out, indulge myself, have full control of TV remotes etc.

On taking down my tent in Nuremberg, imagine my delight when a rodent like creature ran out from underneath the tent. I had, in fact, been sharing my home for five days with a shrew.

George recuperates

George has retired to the suburbs where he is boring anyone who passes him with stories of his exploits at the World Cup.

Some people have taken to crossing over the road before they see him, or making fake phone calls and avoiding eye contact.

Germany in London

Needed therapy after last night's match so set off to see Fernando, the hairdresser.

He told me that a friend of his 'stands to win £150,000' in a World Cup bet. Wow, I said, that makes my sweepstake in Argentina look pretty measly. How will he manage that I wondered. Oh, Fernando couldn't remember all the details, but the bet included 'Brazil not making it through to the final 16 and Australia winning the tournament.'

Walked back through Clerkenwell where I discovered a new German sausage cafe called 'Kurz & Lang'. It sells Nuremberger sausages so I know where to go if I get sausage withdrawal.

Sweden in London

OK, so you may have noticed we have not been too close to our lovely blog for a while. The truth is that we made a snap decision to watch the match back home.

We had a hard time of it pushing George to Calais in time. Somewhere in France, he headbutted a large bird and we carried a few feathers home in the wipers. Then, about ten kilometres from Calais, and with as many minutes to go before the last ferry sailed, George made a dreadful grinding sound. Something technical, so I blanked it out.

George was practically wheeled onto the ferry, like an elderly day tripper. On the other side of the channel, the boys broke the news. George had snapped his fanbelt.

I built a nest in the backseat and went to sleep. The RAC man came, went and still I slept. Peter woke me up 10 minutes from Deptford.

Back for a home tie.