All this football is bringing out my inner lad

I am usually wary of armchair patriotism but when the Euros or the World Cup come rattling around the bend every few years I buckle up and get on the Great British ride. I curse at the screen, shake my fists and yell “ref!” because I’ve learnt that it’s usually his fault, or a classic “come on England!” Can’t go wrong with that. I grab a pint. Spill it on my new footy T-shirt.

This is all, I might add, rather out of character. I prefer to leave the hooliganism to the lads who understand the offside rule. I hate beer. I’m not even sure I like football that much. But it’s my one chance to dig deep for the nationalism that’s simmering in there