TB: .....here, Soph. Seriously, do you think England can win the World Cup this time?
SR: Nah.
TB: What makes you say that?
SR: ...Too many centre halves, too many midfielders and not enough strikers, Tans.
TB: What about Michael Owen?
SR: Well, a fit Michael Owen and I might give them a prayer, but he's hardly kicked a ball in anger this year. There's no Rooney and with Sven preferring the impossibly young Theo Walcott to Jermaine Defoe and lolloping clothes horse of a striker Peter Crouch expected to partner the diminutive star of France '98 up front....it doesn't exactly inspire confidence now, does it?
TB: .....but look at the players who ARE fit - Lamps, Becks, Stevie G., Ash, Tezzer, Rio - it's a formidable squad you have to admit Soph....
SR: Look Tans, you can have the best players in the world, but if the manager's about as adventurous as a timid librarian on a crash course in dithering, then they might as well book the first plane home. And McLaren's just as bad.
TB: ....OK, OK, I know they didn't get a kick even against 10 man Brazil when they went out last time and he's not exactly Malcolm Alison in the sartorial stakes, but you have to admit he's been bold enough to play Rooney from the start and he's prepared to take a gamble on Walcott. Maybe this time things'll be different....
SR: Yes, and maybe Huw Edwards will pay off my Barclaycard,whisk me off to Bermuda, lick champagne off my quivering limbs before delivering me to heaven in a 12 hour marathon of oral dexterity...
TB: Well, miracles do happen Soph....Desiree, surely you've got something positive to say about our boys' chances in Germany this summer...
Desiree: No way, Hosannah. I'm with Blondie. The manager's not up to it and they'll fold as soon as they come up against a good side in the knockouts. Quarters at best...
TB: Thanks for nothing, D.
SR: Now, let's have no more of this football nonsense Tans - look, you've even pinged your 'lastic again. Those hold-ups'll be round your ankles in no time..
TB: Oh Pee!
SR: Come on young ladies - let's get back to our flower arranging and leave the lads to worry about that silly game.
TB: Ah Soph, you're so right. I really don't know why I let it get to me so much. I mean, it's not as if I particularly LIKE football. It's just so boring sitting here all day, filled with existential ennui waiting for Godot......who never bloody well comes. I suppose you're right - let's practice on these.
SR: Oh Tans, they're lovely! Where did you get them?
TB: Sally Army again. They never learn - just whipped 'em while I was pretending to solicit the Sergeant Major! He's probably still lying in that alleyway where I left him, blindfolded and waiting for someone to take the Cornetto out...
SR: Thanks Tans - I'll go stick them in some water. Honestly, this Godot - what's he like??? Oh well, suppose I'd better stick the kettle on......minty choc drinks all round girls??
ALL: Mmmm hmmmm!!
Love on ya'll,
Bob
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