Mouse

England's Euro2012 campaign has started on a modestly positive note. At least we scored a goal. And didn't lose. By our standards, that's quite a decent result. Supporting England has always been traumatic: a roller-coaster of inflated expectations confounded by grimly frustrating performances. But that's part of the charm. What is the point of supporting effortlessly successful teams, such as Germany or Spain (other than the poor consolation of winning trophies on a regular basis)? To support England requires a steely resolve and boundless optimism in the face of almost certain disaster. These are qualities that build one's character.

It is also inspiring to see Ukraine play their opening game in Kiev, with hoards of fans celebrating wildly in blue and yellow - particularly poignant considering the country's troubled history. And a remarkable victory snatched from the gaping jaws of defeat thanks to the heroic Shevchenko. I am still managing to watch two games each evening, which only goes to underline what an empty life I lead.

Molly brought another friend home this evening. I wouldn't mind other than it was a mouse; and although I am fairly broad-minded about most things, I really don't want mice hanging around the house, as if they owned the place. I try telling her what I think about this, but I don't believe it really sinks in. At least I managed to evict it in one piece; although Molly now looks rather miffed, as if she is taking the insult personally.