Why did I do it? I wasn’t going to, but then I thought, well Jack and Theo are playing. I had to support them. Silly sod.

It wasn’t always this way though. Apparently I was at Wembley to see England play Russia three months shy of my second birthday. Forgive me if I don’t recall the details. Then from the sixties to some point in the eighties I was quite a regular for home matches, although I kept my trips to foreign shores restricted to Arsenal’s European outings. I think it was watching a string of disappointments in the eighties that drilled it home to me that I just didn’t get the same buzz watching England as I did the Arsenal.

That manifests itself today in a very patchy recall of England performances, although as I have discovered in the drinks I, and a number of ‘holics, have a recall of some pretty obscure Gunners in the sixties. My most vivid England memories don’t actually involve the football at all.

The worst was undoubtedly a game against Scotland in the seventies. It was the first time I had been fortunate enough to get tickets, which were as rare as rocking-horse droppings. None of my Arsenal mates had been as lucky, so on the day I just took up my place at the tunnel end and prayed for deliverance! By the time kick-off came around a few little groups who had tried to sing for the home side had gathered together in my block, and I joined them. Safety in numbers and all that.

The afternoon was relatively good-natured until some brain-donor in our midst decided to set fire to a Lion Rampant flag. This had the not entirely unexpected effect of antagonising the tens of thousands of our friends and neighbours around us. To this day I will never understand quite how I got out of the place in one piece, although I suspect that it was not cider that had rained down on us in a hail of plastic bottles. The fact that the ‘holicmum hailed from Stirling enabled me to steer clear of the worst of the retribution that was dished out as we made our exit. I can do a very passable Scots accent when really needed!

Remarkably my best memory was also of time spent in the company of opposing supporters. I was never going to miss the Republic of Ireland game in 1976, given that David O’Leary and Liam Brady were in the visitors line-up, and Charlie George (although by now a Derby County player) making what was to be his only appearance for England. The match finished 1-1, so those who had come over for the night were in good spirits. I got chatting to some of the Irish on the tube and when we got to Baker Street we agreed to have a little drink together as we talked about the Arsenal lads, and the up-and-coming Frank Stapleton.

That little drink turned into two little drinks, then three. In fact that little drink carried on until the trains started running again the following morning. When people talk about the friendliest and most colourful supporters most allude almost immediately to the Brazilians. Not me. I wish we could play the Irish every year. All that green, and black. Oh yes, the black. That was the night I learned you could drink that stuff all night, and sing like a lark. Well, maybe a big old tone-deaf lark, but a lark nonetheless.

It wouldn’t happen now though. It would take something considerably more powerful than wild horses to drag me anywhere near an England game. Sorry Jack, not even you and Theo, mate.

goonerholic