Tag Archives: world cup

World Cup: View from the Primark WAGs

I like to think of myself and my friends as WAGS. After all, we too stand by our men throughout the football season, allowing them to wear nasty nylon football shirts, and talk about football at every given opportunity. The difference may be that their Prada is our Primark and their Ferraris our Fiestas, but basically we are the same.

No doubt Colleen and the other WAGs are breathing a sigh of relief, just as we are, that England have made it through to the next round. Personally I am relieved as I did not relish the prospect of removing the numerous flags festooned across the front of my house, while my husband sank into a depression so bad that only a few pints with his equally depressed mates would shake it off. So the house can stay looking like the headquarters of the British Red Cross at least for the next few days, and the Macho Grill Master 5000 barbeque he bought, whilst still full of optimism that “this is our year” won’t be covered up and relegated to the back of the shed just yet.

Now, I’m not saying it’s only men who enjoy the beautiful game. Plenty of women do as well and so they should: it’s exciting, it’s entertaining and they all swap shirts at the end. But when your husband and sons (of which I have 5) are mad football fans it does have an impact on your life, especially when it’s the World Cup. Our social life has to revolve around the extremely confusing World Cup chart on the kitchen wall so I don’t accidentally arrange a family get-together with my elderly aunts the day England play Germany. Hence when all the lads come round with their WAGs, us girls watch half the match, then leave them shouting at the telly (apparently their 90 year old granny could have netted that one), then we go and sit in the garden among the half eaten burgers, the smouldering Grill Master 5000 and talk girl talk. Like which Italian player was the fittest during the line up, and other important things in life. Also when England are losing or drawing or even winning (but only by one goal because it could still go either way!) we have to escape in case all our blokes spontaneously combust at the same time.

The match is then followed by a post match analysis of who played well or who played like their 90 year old granny (honestly, one minute she could score a sitter, the next she is being compared to the worst player of the game… give granny a break) The next rounds are impossible for anyone other than a die hard footie fan to work out. Almost as confusing as the offside rule. For example if Germany beat Ghana they go through as long as there is a three goal difference and if Accrington Stanley beat Italy then Spain get into the finals and play Manchester United… something like that… but at the end of the day (see I do know some football lingo) it’s only a game. Don’t tell him I said that.

Posted by The Lovely Nicola


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World Cup: The perfect football song

In a few hours’ time, the England football team could possibly be packing their designer luggage and heading for the airport, as yet again World Cup dreams lie shattered to miserable pieces.

Or it could all be glorious. There’s still hope. And the perfect soundtrack to the particular type of brittle, dewy-eyed hope that swells up in English breasts every four years is World In Motion, the 1990 World Cup song by New Order.

Hope springs from the very start of that song, with Kenneth Wolstenholme reprising his legendary “They think it’s all over… it is now!” commentary from the 1966 final. Spirits duly raised by the memory of Bobby Moore lifting the trophy, the song’s intro leads us, via standard New Order beats and keyboards to a lyric full of commentator cliches about creating space and expressing yourself.

“Expressing yourself,” eh? It makes football sound all creative and arty and beautiful. And then there’s the chorus: Love’s got the world in motion. That’s right – love. It’s not a World Cup, it’s the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, all peace, love and understanding. It ought to sound silly, but at the time it sounded perfect – optimistic, positive and even a little bit sexy. And it still does.

In case we get too carried away, John Barnes appears to prove that not all black men can rap. Even so, there’s something quite mesmerising about the way he delivers his lines with a kind of ponderous rhythmicality, and he’s Barnesy so we love him anyway.

Then it all culminates in the team joining in with “We’re playing for England – Eng-er-land!” and the cute line “Arrivederci it’s one on one,” as a little nod to the host nation, Italy.

There we have it. The perfect football song from yet another year when it was all so elusively within England’s reach.

Posted by PLA

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Celebrity Come Dine With Me: Footballers

Was this a wind up? Did I dream it? It was quite the strangest Come Dine With Me I’ve seen, and lord, there have been some odd shows and even odder contestants. The food was universally the worst I’ve ever seen. A horror show of bad cooking from men who clearly never cook (and with wives who are younger, slimmer and prettier than them). It was the day spaghetti bolognese (which even done well, makes any self-respecting Italian wince) died and went to hell.

The show kicked off with a naked, quite large, ex-footballer (Neil Ruddock) opening the door to John Fashanu, wearing a butchers’ apron and a smile. He had gone to some trouble to make a vinaigrette, (although pronouncing it was another thing altogether) to be served on avocado halves. Then he ignored it and just poured Sarson’s neat vinegar on instead. My mouth puckered up in pain involuntarily. Elizabeth David was turning on a spit in her grave.

But even in this crucible of food horrors, I learnt a few things, but none of them related to anything edible. John Fashanu is not, apparently, a very nice man. Bitchy about Ruddock’s increased girth since giving up playing the beautiful game. Full of himself for no apparent reason, with a belief in his cooking abilities not born out by his mediocre food. On his evening, he said he didn’t drink, but was sipping pudding wine in the kitchen, then he served room temperature white wine to his guests, then later, for no apparent reason, chilled red. Alice Through the Wine Merchant’s Looking Glass.

The amusing/ironic voiceover from Dave Lamb was superfluous for once. You just needed to watch and gawp. In the previous World Cup special, we’d seen the lives and homes of the immaculate and contemporary young WAGs (who admittedly couldn’t cook for toffee either, except when it was toffee from condensed milk). I hope they watched this and saw their future. Get yourselves a decent career is my advice. Watch Karren Brady and learn. Don’t hitch yourself to the career footballer bandwagon, else you too could end up housekeeper to one of this lot in twenty years time.

Posted by Inkface


Filed under Cooking shows