SAUDI ARABIA v Ukraine

I’d had a bit of trouble finding a suitable venue for Saudi Arabia. I heard that the Park Lane Hilton’s brasserie was a possibility, but it had been empty for their game against Tunisia. I had asked at the embassy, but they had been unable to help, even though one of my contacts had been invited to watch the first game there. Although when he got there he was turned away.

I’d heard that a good place to watch it was a Saudi academy in that most resolutely English part of west London, East Acton. It was a part of town I thought I knew well, but I had no idea it had anything as remotely exotic as a Saudi academy.

I was expecting it to be some sort of college for twentysomethings, but realised I was probably barking up the wrong tree as I approached it and a gaggle of giggling schoolgirls expressed their surprise to see this white bloke in a Saudi shirt.

It was a normal-looking school and there didn’t seem to be any sort of World Cup fever anyway, so I cut my losses and retraced my steps as quickly as my little legs and the Central Line would carry me, hurrying back to Edgware Road. I got to what was quickly emerging as Edgware Road’s premiere footie-watching restaurant ten minutes into the game. They were already losing.

There was a £10 minimum charge to be seated near the big screen. There were few takers, but it was no problem for me; I was hungry and would easily spend that sum on food. I ordered a mixed lamb kebab and a Coke.

This was certainly the glitziest venue I had been to so far, with some sort of gold-coloured metallic floor, copious back-lit stained glass, mosaic tables, a shiny mosaic ceiling, glowing pillars, mosaic mirrors, and some sort of optic light glass waterfall feature.

It was a mixed crowd, including just a few replica shirts (I was beginning to realise that they were so rare, giggling schoolgirls would probably be surprised to see me in one even if I looked Saudi). Some diners and shisha pipe smokers were oblivious to the match, but others were getting into the swing of things, including an enthusiastic party of hijab-clad young ladies screaming at every dangerous Ukrainian attack (of which there were quite a few).

There wasn’t much cheering, but there wasn’t much to cheer, with Saudi Arabia turning in an abject performance, and no-one seemed surprised when Serhiy Rebrov helped himself to the Ukraine’s second goal ten minutes from the break.

I was beginning to wish that I’d organised my schedule to watch this match in the Ukrainian Social Club. But I put such treacherous thoughts out of my mind. I was here to support Saudi Arabia; even if most of the other people in the venue weren’t.

Half-time brought blessed relief from Ukrainian dominance, and Arabic advertising for bizarrely western products – Snickers, Walkers, the Premiership – on Saudi TV, which was also providing my first opportunity to watch a game with captions in an alphabet I didn’t understand.

The second half carried on as the first had finished, although the Ukrainians only waited one minute to score, which was three less than in the first half. But by now the crowd appeared to have resigned themselves to a hammering. And a hammering they got as Maxim Kalinichenko added the fourth with five minutes to go.