I have written already about the relative merits of Britishness and Englishness in relation to football, proposing a UK team, and I was told off in various quarters for being a naughty boy.
So I won’t expand at great length on the relief I felt last night that England was not in the final, given the ugly havoc the side’s presence would have thrown up on our streets, except to say that I happened to be in a Spanish restaurant during the final between Holland and Spain. The atmosphere was friendly, warm and generous. When Spain scored its late winner, there was hugging and dancing and flag-waving, but with none of the screaming, aggression or violence that accompanies England games.
The experience made me think about what it is to be English these days.