I HATE to be the one to break it to you all; the one to rain on our English parade. But we're NOT going to win the World Cup.

Football is NOT coming home. The only thing that is coming home is Rio Ferdinand, he of the crocked foot. And not too long behind will be our England squad, wondering again where it all went wrong.

How do I know this? Well, you don't need a crystal ball, do you? You don't need the combined efforts of Alan Hansen and Gary Lineker and the other one, who will appear on our screens for the next month, agonising over every missed penalty, own goal and contentious reffing decision.

Every tournament since 1966 we have not won. And every tournament since then the hype, merchandise, pointless speculation, hysteria and grinding on about our 'hurt' has got worse.

As you may have gathered, I don't live in a World Cup house. No cross of St George will be draped from our windows, no child's face painted, no irritating flaggy thing will be attached to my motor, to inconveniently fly off and whack the car behind, when I'm on the motorway.

We won't be buying England gingerbread men, red and white cupcakes, nylon footie shirts, cheapo bunting or a giant, hideous flatscreen HDTV on which to view England versus A Small Nation Which We Ought To Beat Comfortably.

Add to this the fact that I don't understand the offside rule, the Christmas tree formation, the Bosman ruling or why that nice Michael Owen was left out of the squad and this, I have decided, makes me the PERFECT person to blog the World Cup.

Well, apart from Garey Lineker, obviously.

If you fancy reading the awful truth about our campaign, instead of the tragic and certifiable optimism of Gary and his chums; if you hate football and can't see what all the fuss is about, drop in here from time to time and you so will not be disappointed.