ENGLAND v Portugal

I’d planned to travel to the furthest reaches of south-east or north-east London to watch England’s quarter-final clash with Portugal in one of the capital’s most English areas. But the day of the match turned out to be an absolute scorcher, surely hotter than any day of the year so far and with no breeze.

Faced with the choice between a three-hour round trip in the train and returning to our local with my lovely English wife and our friends, I’m ashamed to say I made the easy choice. As a son of the suburbs, I regretted that I wouldn’t be shining the light of fame on these particular parts of suburbia, but was more than consoled by the thought of watching the game so close to home.

Also looking forward to the game was our bus driver as we returned from Wickes on the morning before the game. The brave man was beaming as he wore his Portugal shirt and Portugal bandana. We wondered if he’d got permission from his employers.

We questioned his wisdom to be displaying his support so clearly, surrounded by his team’s opponents, but I decided he’d be alright. Portugal fans seem to have a better relationship with England fans than anyone else. I remembered one of my favourite Portuguese cafes displaying both countries’ flags (love their flags, those Portuguese) before the two teams met at Euro 2004, and offering “a free glass of port to all our English friends”.

We got to the hall where we’d watched the Ecuador game 20 minutes before kick-off but it was already busier than it had ever got against Ecuador: there was barely any standing room and it was absolutely roasting. Surprisingly, we found the pub itself less busy and made our way past the tempting barbecue to find ourselves spots with a decent view of the screen.

The crowd seemed slightly subdued as the game got underway. It was fair enough: this was England’s first test against decent opposition and they would have to play much better than they had so far. And it was hot.

But the atmosphere built as England started to play really well in the first half, creating a couple of decent chances. And the atmosphere was helped as the beer started to flow (and I was finding that my two-pint rule was unenforceable when watching the game with friends).

The nerves continued as the game proceeded at 0-0, and as David Beckham went off injured. But there were huge cheers for his replacement, the exciting Aaron Lennon, and I sensed that some fans may have shared my opinion that Beckham’s injury could be a blessing in disguise.

But then there was anger for Wayne Rooney’s harsh red card, which sparked the crowd into life, as they lived every moment of England’s subsequent backs-to-the-wall performance.

There were cheers as Paul Robinson saved and Rio Ferdinand cleared, and excitement and chanting when a good chance came from a Frank Lampard free kick. The atmosphere built towards the 90 minutes, as any mistake could now lead to practically instant elimination.

Then we had to go through it all again for another 30 minutes. There was tension, excitement as Peter Crouch came close a couple of times, and nerves as the second final whistle approached with Portugal applying the pressure.

After Simao scored and Lampard missed, my lovely wife couldn’t take the pressure and hid in the toilet. It’s a tactic that often works, and it did as Hugo Viana missed, Owen Hargreaves scored and Petit missed. The crowd went wild. She emerged from the toilet. But maybe she should have stayed in there, because the excitement gradually turned to shock as Steven Gerrard missed, Helder Postiga scored, Jamie Carragher missed and Cristiano Ronaldo scored.

England were out. The crowd were stunned. I shuddered to think of the decibel levels on the South Lambeth Road.