Well, World Cup fever is building up aplenty, n'est-ce-pas? No, perhaps you're right. It's so very autumnal around these parts currently that staging a World Cup in a fortnight's time seems implausible and a touch distasteful. A bit like washing your hair in the toilet.
I was reading some old guff on the BBC web site earlier about men in their 30s and 40s collecting Panini stickers during football tournaments. It's all the rage. I did try this once a few years ago, but it was rubbish. When I was a boy, I thought if I had all the money in the world to spend on stickers, I'd find contentment. I know that now to be untrue. I did throw money at the sticker problem as a grown up, but just felt more and more frustrated. In the end I gave up.
I shouldn't have been surprised by this; I've read enough philosophy over the years to wallpaper an oil rig. And it all reaches the same conclusion: material things make you unhappy. And yet I still harboured dreams of buying my way to happiness.
Those wrong-headed notions were shattered by Panini (thanks, fellas). I no longer buy lottery tickets, thanks to them. What's the point? I'd just be a miserable millionaire. "Why can't I afford a platinum submersible?"
What price Bob Latchford?
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