Sunday

The cricket starts at 10.45, so Dad is round from Rochdale to pick me up at 9.30. We say a quick hello and goodbye to Sam, who made it back at 3am, and head towards Old Trafford. We're planning a full day sat out in the sun, so luckily Dad's brought along a spare sun hat and some suncream - dads eh? - as well as a selection of high quality homemade sandwiches and a few bottles of Diet Coke.

We park at Old Trafford football ground - which still looks like a crazy, unwieldy structure to me, even though I haven't been this close to it since I was a kid - and walk up towards the cricket ground with the gathering masses. Most are in England football shirts, what with the Germany game this afternoon (and we are mostly expecting half of them to leave the cricket at 3pm - I would be tempted!) and various others wear the usual idiotic costumes 'barmy army' types seem to like.

The cricket starts off pleasantly - watching it is so different to football, the experience is so passive, like birdwatching or something; and everyone is chatting away. It's a very relaxing sport to watch on a summer's day, which is exactly what had appealed to me about this particular trip.

Come 3pm though, and the desire to watch football is agonising. I know it's a huge game - and I try to get TVCatchup to work on the iPhone, but to no avail, presumably because everyone else there is trying the same thing - but I'm also enormously confident that it will be rubbish, and that England will lose. Instead I focus on the cricket - in which England are doing rather well, having bowled Australia out for 212 in 46 overs - but listen for the murmuring updates of kids with portable radios.

It's soon apparent that England have gone 2-0 down early on; and there's an audible sigh of relief from those who have stayed to watch the cricket. But then a huge cheer goes up as England get first one, then (apparently) another goal back! These are easily the largest cheers of the day, making for something of a surreal atmosphere inside Old Trafford.

As it turns out, England's second goal was (erroneously) ruled out, and Germany go on to win 4-1. Another World Cup ends dismally for England, then - the inquests will begin. I, for one, am just relieved to have avoided the terrible heartache of it all for once.

We leave the cricket early in order that I can make my train back to London, annoyingly missing an exciting end to a match which England do, in fact, go on to win. The journey isn't too bad and I treat myself to a Burger King along the way - but the streets and public transport are littered with the miserable, the angry, the drunk and the sunburnt.