Damned bloody Euro 2004.
I just love this event, when all of Europe comes together as one continent united, ready to indulge in a little touching xenophobia and hooliganism and shouting and the Daily Mirror touchingly placing little Nazi helmets on the German teams.
However, The Game to End All Games-- also known as England Vs France -- kicks off tonight. If we lose, there will be anti-French vitriol, entente cordiale be damned, with stupid little jokes and bitchy asides about the country we love to hate (apparently) in the tabloids. If we win, then we'll be unbearably smug and there will be stupid little jokes and bitchy asides about the country we love the hate in the tabloids.
So. In keeping with my great family tradition, I'm instantly supporting the opposing team. Now, before fellow Brits reply and tell me they're going to eviscerate me-- think of these things: lovely cheeses and fine wines, Paris on a Spring morning, admirable lack of royalty. Then think: David Beckham.
No contest, really. ;-)
In other news, Chris and I finally booked our trip to... *shock, horror* ... Paris today. Going to be there for Bastille day. Again. Huzzah. We opted for budget, because, hell, we always do, and were delighted to find a hotel at incredibly reasonable prices, admittedly not in the best location, but decent enough. It sold itself on its 'stunning hilltop views... from one of the highest and most beautiful points in Paris."
Yes. Hmm. I think that may possibly be Sacre Coeur in the distance, but it could also be a white blob on the film.
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