When Lionesses Aren't Hungry.

I was in a bit of a quandary earlier this evening. I knew that our summer heroines, the Lionesses (i.e. the English women’s football team) were due to play a friendly match against one of Europe’s less favoured teams, the Czech Republic (who didn’t even qualify for the European Championships.) And I knew that the game would be covered by free-to-air terrestrial TV (which is the only sort of TV I’ve got because I’m an INFJ and the vast majority of what the TV offers is of no interest to me and therefore not worth paying for.)

Now, all through the summer our brilliant girls in white brought the nation to its feet. They were unstoppable. They won the competition and scored a bagful of goals (several bags full actually.) I really wanted to watch them so as to relive those glorious summer evenings when the sublime combination of ladies’ legs and sporting success were my only reason to smile.

So what was the quandary? Simple: it’s cold in my living room because the heating is inadequate, and I didn’t really fancy sitting in it for two hours. But then I came to my senses:

‘If you were sitting in a plastic seat at the ground it would be even colder, you dummy,’ I told myself, ‘so don’t be such a wimp. Stick your bobbly woollen jacket on, pretend you’re under the stars in Brighton with a load of other hardy people who don’t even notice the temperature when the Lionesses are on the rampage. Watch the bloody football!’

And so I did. And it was a 0-0 draw. And I’m inconsolable.

(And that’s why I didn’t make the more earnest post about an interesting fact I learned today concerning the conflict between private and socialised healthcare. I expect I will when I’ve lifted myself out of the ditch of despond.)