Concrete Pencil: World Cup woe or England elation?

But 86 was my first sticker album. Panini. Silly mascot with a sombrero. England in shirts with little holes in, like the grey flannel ones we wore that summer term.

I remember Gary Lineker's wristband, held aloft in a tournament-turning tie against Poland.

I interviewed him for this paper once - he was doing noble work for a children's charity on the docks - and I asked him if he still had the bandage as it held a totemic significance for me. He looked at me funny.

Italia 90 I watched on the edge of my mum's bed, the same place I saw One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest when I wasn't supposed to and was introduced to high-brow swearing.

Paul Gascoigne, David Platt, Peter Shilton. That free kick, deflected, loops over the wall. Low-brow swearing.

England missed USA 94, and I played up my half-Irishness and developed a ritual whereby if I jumped high enough to graze a knuckle on our Artex ceiling then Ireland would score a penalty. Those sweet gods, Paul McGrath and Packie Bonner. And Jackie Charlton, of course.

France 98 saw me home from university in The Plough, where Johnny Wilkinson enjoyed his first and only drink (probably).

More hand damage was incurred, I gently punched a sharper-than-it-looked light fitting. Either Michael Owen had just scored or David Batty had just missed a penalty. It was the first Scream pub.

2002 was my first Wharf World Cup. I was taking over as editor here (a rewarding role but tremendously time-consuming when one wants to be seeing what happens to the group of death).

We beat Argentina downstairs at Bar 38. A Scottish gentleman of this parish wore an Argentina T-shirt.

It was very early, and we were in the Gun in Liverpool Street drinking breakfast vodka when Beckham chickened out of that tackle on the right wing and Rivaldo scored.

In 2006 I mainly argued that Emile Heskey was good. 

For 2010 I will mainly be at work. And celebrating my child's first birthday. And going back to work.

What has changed since 1986? Everyone cares about it now, not just schoolboys and fanatics. 

I've had seven world cups, if I live to be 80 I'll have 12 more. I think I'd have enjoyed England winning most in 1990.

It was just me in that room. Not a pub full of shouts nor a Trafalgar Square full of jubilation (don't get me wrong: those would be good too).

Either way, I'll still be one of those people who chart their lives by World Cups. Let this be a good one.