…Had chicken, potatoes and carrots for lunch.
Read seven Asterix books today. Amazing.
Watched more World Cup this evening from 6.40 till 9.00pm
England play their matches on the 3rd, 6th and 11th June…
The match I watched was Brazil v Spain. It was on ITV, so this would have been a rare chance for the third channel to dominate our living room for more than just an occasional half-hour of sitcommery.
It would also have been the first time I saw this:
Before the week was out, I would have added this splendidly jaunty effort, called Aztec Gold, to volume two of my taped-off-the-telly theme collection.
According to my Ladybird guide to World Cup 86, the game I watched today was played at the Jalisco Stadium in Guadalajara, and (assuming I recorded the score correctly, which was not always the case) resulted in Brazil beating Spain 1-0.
My diary makes no other comment whatsoever about the match, which tends to confirm the belief already expressed that I was interested in this tournament not so much for its displays of skill or the participation of famous players, but rather by its status as a TV schedule-dominating, wallchart-annotating, statistical-hoarding cavalcade.
I cared that it was an internationally significant event. I didn’t so much care for, in the case of today’s match, the actual performances of [turns to Ladybird book once again] Zico, Falcao and Casagrande for Brazil, or Butragueno (apparently there was only one “player to watch” in the Spanish squad).
I fully realise this places me in that most despised of categories, the fickle football fan. But in my defence I absolutely cared about filling in that Radio Times/Grandstand World Cup wallchart, which by now was proudly Blu-tacked to my bedroom wall.