ENGLAND v Ecuador

Maybe I should try spread-betting. The night before England v Ecuador, I’d predicted that England would have to wait until the 60th minute for their first goal. And sure enough, David Beckham obliged exactly on the hour. But I must admit that I’d also said that they would win 2-0, which they didn’t.

I’d decided that my third England experience should be in leafy suburban south-west London. Not because it was near my house, of course; but to experience England fandom from a new perspective.

The atmosphere was building relentlessly as my lovely English wife and I made our way to the pub. We passed loads of excitable fans in red, and even a residents’ association picnic in the park, complete with a brass band in St George’s Cross hats and a big screen for the game. But it was a private do though, so we carried on to the village hall appended to our local pub.

There was a very positive atmosphere in the hall, in spite of the game’s potential for huge disappointment. There was at least one celebrity local resident in the crowd, and a bit of a sing-along going on. “England ‘til I die!” chanted the crowd. I wasn’t sure if me joining in with “England ‘til eight o’clock!” would have gone down well, so I kept my big Scottish mouth shut.

But England’s performance was about as good as the quality of the singing in the hall. There were shrieks when Carlos Tenorio smacked the ball against the bar, and nerves thereafter. I was starting to feel a bit sorry for my England-supporting chums.

There was sporadic excitement and chanting as England started to create a few decent chances as the half went on, and then more disappointment when the screen suddenly went blank. But disaster was averted when it flickered back into life, albeit on the wrong channel, and normal service was soon resumed.

The crowd were getting boisterous towards half-time, in spite of England’s continued failure to score; and we all piled out into the beer garden at half-time, where there was a lovely barbecue going on.

And the atmosphere was buoyed by England’s improved performance at the start of the second half, as the midfield began to give Wayne Rooney the support he needed.

There was more chanting, primarily from a group of lads at the back of the hall, and a huge explosion of relief when David Beckham’s excellent free kick broke the deadlock.

With the pressure off after the goal, the atmosphere was upbeat again; there were cheers when Paul Robinson pulled off a couple of saves, and frequent Rooney chants for a couple of flashes of sheer genius.

But no-one went as far as to join in the lads at the back of the hall’s Sven Goran Eriksson chants, and although there was massive celebration for the final whistle and victory, I suspected the majority of the crowd left in doubt as to whether England could raise their game as far as they would have to for the quarter-final. In the meantime, I was off to watch the game that would determine who England would face in that next round.