I like going to football matches because they are live events and I enjoy the sounds and the sights and the emotions and the people-watching. However, I live in a biennial dread of European and World Cup football tournaments.
This is partly because I dread the feeling of an entire nation sulking the following day: it is as if every man and every woman suddenly had a synchronised and lachrymose episode of PMS.
It is also partly because I feel as if I am going to miss out on something. Scrooge hates Christmas, in part, because of the feeling he has that he’s all alone in his hatred of it. Even though I know it is all going to end in ignominy and tears, I have this sneaky suspicion that the people who engage with the thing will end up the emotional winners.
Maybe I should just give in and watch the bloody thing.