Oh god, it's all gone horribly wrong.
It started so innocently - a few sips of wine in the garden.
I received a text message, in Texan - Hey R yall going out 2 watch game?
So I commented that this is an American take on Euro 2004, and rang said Texan, inviting her to come round and watch. Jimmy's getting nervous, thinking it's some random American off the internet, until I explained that it was the lovely Megan Ph.D.
The wine seemed to evaporate. We started bottle number 3 just before the TV build-up programme started.
Then the room began to swim. HE advised me to turn it the other way, but it was way too confusing, with England having 22 players out there (and I think France did too). I spent five minutes, fruitlessly, hanging over the loo, before returning to the living room, but suddenly deciding that I needed desperately to open the front door and throw up in the front garden, just as Frank Lampard scored. Dearly beloved fiancé is making sarky comments about if I was in Portugal I'd be arrested for drunkenness.
The next thing I know, all is dark, and Immortal Beloved is saying something about France winning 2-1 and some halfwit called Beckham missing a penalty.
I think I just committed a crime against football...
But I look fucking gorgeous in my new England shirt!
