We're twenty minutes into the World Cup final. The phone goes. "Hello, it's Cathy from Radio Five Live." I politely explain it's the sporting fixture of the... every four years. "Sorry. I'll keep it short," she says. "We're having an education debate at midnight. Can you talk about single-sex schooling?" "I'm happy to," I reply politely, "but can we discuss it after the game?" We're ten minutes into extra time. The phone goes. "Hello it's Cathy from Five Live." I stay calm: "Cathy, the game's into extra time." "I know," she says. "That's why we're running late. We're postponing the debate till later in the week. Is that all right?" As I struggled out a polite farewell, my youngest said: "You really wouldn't expect a sports station to be ringing people during a cup final, would you?" Precisely. Thankfully, I was able to assuage any residual frustration when Zidane chest-butted one of the pretty Italian blokes. The whole game was like that pitiful eighties single Torn Between Two Lovers. I was torn between a mainly black team representing a racist nation, or a bung-implicated team representing a fascist nation. In the run-up, I'd opted to support France. I thought victory might be a unifying force. But it was Italy I kept cheering. Because they're small and fierce and cute. And they were the dog's bollocks in extra time against Germany. Now, the household can return to its natural state of football apathy. Making, of course, the odd exception for Liverpool (me) and Arsenal (youngest):-)