England finds another way to snatch a loss from the jaws of victory

It's taken me a little while to get to this as I have been diligently (?!) writing an essay on Robert Lowell and Philip Larkin, so bear with me.

Not having Foxtel installed at home comicstriphero and myself were forced to locate a pub that was open early on a Monday morning to watch England v France. We tried to get into the Coogee Bay Hotel but of course this was packed to the gills with Poms and we, along with quite a few others were locked out. So it came to be that we found ourselves at that rather salubrious establishment, the Courthouse Hotel in Taylor Square, Darlinghurst. What can only be described as an out-of-body experience ensued. I won't mention the fact that we had actually gone to bed at a reasonable hour and got up with the alarm at 4.30am. I won't mention the fact that everyone around us had been drinking since well into the day before. I won't mention the fact that sobriety makes one realise how one's shoes stick to the floor in such an establishment. I will mention that I can't believe that I got up at 4.30am to watch England find yet another way to lose. Dammit, I'm not even English! There weren't that many Poms in the pub, if they were they were very quiet. The couple of blokes beside me who were Poms didn't even allow themselves a cheer, they said they had been burned before, they knew not to celebrate prematurely. Upon France's second goal the place exploded. It was packed full of Irish who were obviously backing the French. One Pommie whispered to the other: "I don't see any point in hanging around..." and made a quick exit. Comictriphero and I followed soon after.