Well I say ‘had lunch with’, we were sat at the adjoining table to Abi outside a leafy boozer in Hampstead. Abi had just been for a walk on the Heath with an extremely cute little dog that turned out to be called ‘Danny’. The poor little fella must have exhausted itself pegging around in the heat of the day and spent part of the time sleeping on my shoe under the table as I tucked into my asparagus and poached egg and lamented what further damage the yolk would be doing to my cholesterol.
Abi, who I might add was an absolute delight, informed us that Danny was a rescue pup and she had just received the results of a gene test to ascertain its background since it was clearly a cross-breed. Apparently the little tyke has no less than 4 different lineages including Yorkshire Terrier, St Bernard, ummm Cocker Spaniel I think, and I can’t remember the other one. So basically somewhere, somehow, a Yorkshire Terrier got frisky with a St Bernard which is something of a neat trick on both of their parts. As a result, Danny is officially more ethnically diverse than Tiger Woods.
Well anyway, enough about Abi Titmuss’s puppy, more to the point I fear that I lost my nerve whilst chatting to her and didn’t mention anything about President Obama, a Union Jack flag, Help for Heroes or her being on a list of ‘500 iconic Britons’ because I didn’t want to harass her mid rocket and celeriac salad. I will, though, use our brief meeting as an opening gambit when I write to her agent Adam in the next few days.
So after the highs of a pleasant lunch at the Wells (pictured above), the lows of a stuttering, stumbling, fumbling performance by Messrs Wazza, Hezza, Bazza, Upzza, Coley, John Terry etc against Germany yesterday afternoon when Fazza Capello seemed at a loss to explain our dramatic loss of form.
For me the tournament is of very little interest now, so whether Brazil thrashes Argentina 5-3 in the most spectacular final ever witnessed or whether Spain scrapes a 1-0 victory over Holland after extra time, Iniesta crashing the winner home on 116 minutes, I personally couldn’t give a flying fig.
Although I might put a little wager on the latter.