The World Cup was a bit of a fail.

England’s World Cup hopes are shattered. Our dreams are broken. The sun has gone down for English football.

Oh well.

Yes, our management was less than perfect, yes, our defence was rubbish, and yes, our performance overall was very poor. BUT… Actually, I can’t think of a positive to come of this. We were pretty appalling. And now my chances of getting with Alex Pettyfer are slimmer than Posh Spice’s waist.

We were thrashed into the ground by Germany in a match that showed us that when the ball goes into the goal, it isn’t necessarily a goal. Now the team faces many questions about why we were so rubbish. I personally don’t think it’s very surprising when you consider how focused our players were.


Lampard and Terry, er, exercising.

Wimbledon 2010.

This week’s not just been about the World Cup – Wimbledon 2010 has begun. It really does show that despite the fact England invented the great sports of football and tennis, everyone else is better at them than us. I’ve recorded the pathetic efforts of our nation in two different competitions so far, and I have a feeling that this is just going to end the same way.

Our 16-year-old Laura Robson got knocked out in her first match. I have to say, she’s a sweet, funny, athletic, accomplished, pretty girl. So excuse me, Nature, but I thought you were supposed to share out the gifts? That’s what I have to tell myself when I look in the mirror.

Things are looking more promising for Andy Murray, who took over Tim Henman’s place as our hopeful champion. Henman was good but not quite good enough, and the British public sat through many long, tense matches which he eventually lost. Why he earned the nickname ‘Tiger Tim’ I’ll never know. In his last match, Andy Murray got to play before the Queen herself, and fortunately for us, he won.


I considerably enjoyed Andy's cutely awkward bow to Her Majesty. I think that is a tennis ball in his pocket.

But I’m not keeping my eyes peeled for Andy – not when Roger Federer’s about. Oh the gorgeous man.


He makes cardigans look sexy.

Poor baby, he nearly lost his first match. But he came back fighting, and played an amazing final set. My favourite bit of the game was when the interviewer talked to him at the end, and asked him if he had any injuries, and he said: “No, no; I’m perfect.” (Though having said that… I did quite enjoy it when he whipped his shirt off halfway through.)


What a cute little Feddy bear.

Although Fedski is the most beautiful player, I was very impressed by the huge efforts of the equally huge Mahut and Isner, who played the longest match in history.


Bless 'em, they're too tired to do normal things with towels.

After over 10 hours of play, the Frenchman finally lost. That must have been dreadful for poor massive Mahut, when he’d put so much effort into the match.


Mahut collapsed on the ground. The scary thing about this photo is the way the black woman blends in with the background.

However, this match is great publicity for Mahut, and he’s sure to get a lot of new sponsors. I think Duracell might be one of them.

So I hope Andy Murray does well at Wimbledon this year, but I’m cheering on Mr. Federer. If he wins, it’ll be for the seventh time. If he doesn’t win, he’ll cry. And we can’t let that happen.

What I think of football.

Football Mania has swept throughout the country in a plague better reported than swine flu (and just about as deadly as that turned out to be). As one of the few unafflicted souls, I cannot see what is so incredible about several men in shorts roaming around a field for 90 minutes. The creators of football were forced to introduce a break halfway through every game to prevent people like myself dying from boredom whilst watching it. Because, the sad truth is, not much happens.

However, drawing on my previous World Cup experiences, it is possibly worse when something does happen. If England scores a goal, I find copious numbers of sweaty men thrusting themselves onto one another, and I am always the ill-fated soul at the centre of the bundle. I can only presume that I am being punished for some grotesque crime in a former life. What I do not understand is why a single goal causes so many people to completely abandon any attempt at self-restraint. You manage it at weddings; you’re happy then, but no-one rugby-tackles the priest or leaps onto the bride’s back in excitement. (My Mad Uncle Jack is an exception).

The players are just as bad, having violent group hugs whenever the ball hits the net. In fact, when Uruguay unexpectedly scored against Italy, they took things a step further.


Bromance is a beautiful thing… but this really is taking it too far.

It’s even more dreadful when the other team scores. I’m forced to brace myself for a bout of angry people shouting things like: “What?!”, “Oh, that’s right, just let them walk right in!” and “WHERE WAS OUR DEFENCE?” (Interestingly enough, I reckon the Trojans were shouting similar things when the Greeks came out of that horse.)

England’s had a pretty unpromising start, and seeing as it’s been a staggering 44 years (my MUM is nearly that old) since England last won the World Cup, it’s highly unlikely that the event will be repeated this year, or indeed, ever. In fact, I believe that it’s far more probable that Alex Pettyfer and I will start dating. Hopefully, my torment will be over soon, and England won’t last long in the World Cup.

But, if we do do well… I’m giving Alex a ring.