PARAGUAY v England

The day of England’s first World Cup game was what the tabloids like to refer to as a “scorcher”. The streets were awash with hundreds of thousands of red or white shirts as the England faithful made their way to their chosen venue, and the St George’s Cross fluttered from every conceivable vantage point (or car).

But, if you’re like me, you’d be wondering where London’s 150 Paraguayans are watching the game. And, on the morning of the game, I was still wondering.

I’d visited the tiny West Kensington embassy, where I got a very pleasant reception (apparently they had been inundated with good luck messages for the England game from Scottish and Welsh fans), but little useful information: “I’m going to watch it in Germany. There aren’t many Paraguayans in London. I don’t know but I’ll try and find out for you…”

And I’d been on the website of the Anglo-Paraguayan Society, but somehow couldn’t find a phone number or email address for them!

It looked like I was going to have to resort to Plan B: the Scottish pub in Paddington, which was bound to be full of Scots cheering on the Auld Enemy’s latest opponents. But this wasn’t about England-bashing.

So I was overjoyed to receive a tip-off on the morning of the game that the Paraguayans would be descending on a flamenco bar (better known to myself and my friends as one of a trio of infamous late-night Spanish drinking dens) in the West End. But it was a private party and I probably wouldn’t be able to get in. So I phoned the venue, and was told to turn up at 1.00 and try my luck.

And even better news was to follow when Plan B was bumped down to Plan C by the appearance of a new Plan B: a Paraguayan-run Latino pub in Hackney. If we couldn’t get into the flamenco bar we would now face a race east, and if there was no action there, another sprint back to the west.

So it was just as well that I was able to stroll straight into the flamenco bar, which was just starting to fill up with the sort of faces you would sooner expect to see in New York or LA, bedecked in red and white stripes, hats and flags. Apparently London’s Latino population has quadrupled over the last few years, from not very many to still not very many.

I hadn’t had any problem getting in because there was no guest list: the event was organised by the Anglo-Paraguayan Society but apparently hardly anyone had RSVP’d so they had no choice but to let everyone in. Whether people hadn’t RSVP’d because they couldn’t find their contact details I don’t know.

It was a real family affair. The female fans, who had also made up roughly half the crowd at the Costa Rica game, were now joined by a stream of impossibly cute kids in tiny Paraguay shirts, who happily strolled in front of the table-mounted projector, impassive to the howls of anguish when they blocked out the picture.

And there wear tears from some of the kids after just a few minutes, as David Beckham’s perfect free kick was flicked into his own net by unlucky Carlos Gamarra as he tried to clear. The significant England-supporting minority (mostly husbands and sons from what I could ascertain) tried not to overdo the celebrations, and the mood remained upbeat, even when Paraguay keeper Justo Villar went off injured.

The atmosphere was further enhanced (not that it needed it) by a bit of drumming from the back of the room and the place went wild when they thought they’d equalised on the stroke of half-time. But the ball had clearly drifted wide and I felt awful sitting in the midst of the jubilant celebrations (which lasted a good minute) knowing full well they were in vain. But no-one seemed that bothered when the anti-climactic truth dawned.

And the excitement was cranked up even further in the second half as Paraguay got on top and searched out that elusive equaliser, with huge cheers for Peter Crouch’s booking. As England defended desperately in the last few minutes, the excitement reached fever pitch, but it was not to be. The Paraguayans remained philosophical, but I was starting to have my own worries. I’d supported three teams so far and they’d all lost. Would Trinidad and Tobago be the unlikely team to change all that?