World Cup 2002: England v Sweden
However much we all may have thundered against the political correctness gone mad in a handcart that led to the World Cup being awarded to such footballing outposts like Japan and Korea, one good thing about it was the ridiculous kick-off times and the opportunity to drink heavily from half past seven in the morning.
The first England game against Sweden took place at half-ten on a Sunday morning and an enthusiastic crowd filled our local pub from nine o'clock, filled with nationalistic fervour and bacon sandwiches.
The game itself was a fairly forgettable affair, eventually finishing one all, but this did nothing to dim the spirits of our little group of thinkers who were just happy to be alive and off the leash for a day.
The game over, we were up for adventure. Naturally, the cry was "To the titty bar!"
The nearest to such an establishment in our area is a gaudy fun-pub/lager palace disco bar that used to have strippers on of a sunday lunchtime.
Usually, the only people that went in there on a sunday were a few raddled, mackintoshed-up old perves (or "the regulars" as the manager called us), however every chap in the tri-county area must have been thinking along similar lines to us and the place was chocker to blocker with sweaty, football shirt wearing scratters and pissheads.
The exotic dancer turned up and headed off to the ladies toilets to get "dressed" for her performance.
The crowd were in high spirits by then and were well up for some bare lady action.
The next thing I noticed was a giant conga (thirty or forty blokes) led by one of my dreadful mates, all singing (to the tune of "Oops upside your head") "Tits! Bum! Fanny! the lot! We want tits, bum, fanny the lot". This went on for a good ten minutes.
Eventually, this lass came out into a bearpit atmosphere that made the locals at Galatasaray look like a county cricket match.
She did her stuff and we did, indeed, get TBF, TL.
At one point she was laid on the floor with her legs in the "ten to two" position so close to me that I could have lobbed a peanut into her bodily treasure had I been that way inclined.
At the conclusion the lady was cheered to the echo, the bravest woman I ever saw.
Our base urges sated, the crowd dispersed and went to our separate pubs. A short trip to the bookies later, we had a collection of free pens and cardboard World Cups to entertain ourselves with.
This wasn't enough for our Napoleon-like ringleader and chief radgey who, thinking on his feet as ever, produced a five pound note and sent one of our chaps to the supermarket with instructions to buy "as many toilet rolls as you can".
He returned with about forty-eight bog rolls which we immediately put to good use, chucking them around and re-creating a ticker-tape parade in the confines of the Sun Inn snug bar, quickly reducing the pub to a state of utter carnage.
My memory is a bit hazy after that, but I think we were asked to leave.
World Cups, eh? Marvellous, aren't they?