The World Cup.
It was inevitable that England and Sweden would meet. I was kind of hoping that we’d both somehow get to go through the knock out stages. Maybe they’d draw, after penalties, and we’d both win!
But at this point the game was unavoidable; we knew this. Both teams had fought off many worthy opponents to get to this stage and now it was game day.
It’d been a massive build up all week. “How would be cope?” “What if it ends in penalties?” “Who will the kids support?! “The pressure!”
The tension was building throughout the day and come 3pm it was about to burst! You could feel it in the air. The streets were deserted. Brooks popped to the shops and there was one lady working the tills at our local Tesco.
“They all took the day off!” The lady said to the people waiting in the queue to get some last minute hummus.
We were ready. Flags were out and the gloves were off.
England took the lead early on and never let off from that point. Their team stronger, hungrier for the win. I was willing the Swedish team on, hoping that they’d equalise and produce some kind of miracle.
Our kids, however, soon lost interest in the game and resorted to playing with Lego in the front room.
England, very deservedly, won the game in the end.
My husband and I went outside to tell our kids that unfortunately Sweden was out of the World Cup and found them playing happily on picnic blanket, blissfully unaware of any drama.
“Who won Daddy?” Jackson asked.
“We were always going to win.” Jackson said. “Either way…”
Our beautiful Swenglish children both smiled at us briefly and then went back to their game.