I am reliably informed that some large international football tournament starts this weekend. No British teams are in it, which causes a quandary. Usually, I just support England because that's what everyone expects me to do and it means we can have a bit of a domestic on the sofa when England plays Germany. It usually ends in tears, though, and I have to remind my young man of 1966 in order to retain a shred of self-respect.
But this year, as I said, things are a bit more difficult. But I note that the Polish press has taken on the time-honoured role of harking back to WWII to encourage the lads to beat the rotten Hun. Usually, of course, that's the domain of the British papers, but this year they've gone strangely quiet.
So in honour of all the Polish people living in my part of London, and of the fact that I had an imaginary friend called Macek as a child, and of the fact that I once tried to learn Polish and failed dismally, and of the fact that it will really wind all my German mates up, I have decided to support Poland. Plus they have quite a nice flag, and I happen to own clothes in their national colours.*
See also Markus Hesselmann, our man in London, and the Guardian's European Beer Championship.
* I was once dragged along to a public viewing of a football match between Brazil and Denmark, wearing a red and white shirt by pure chance. Denmark lost and lots of Brazil fans patted me generously on the back in commiseration. I didn't realise why until some time later.