The behaviour of England fans shows that even beautiful things can have an ugly side

In pursuit of ‘the beautiful game’, Leicester Square got utterly trashed by a mob hours before the match had even begun, writes Jenny Eclair

‘We’ve witnessed football being given some kind of golden ticket to do whatever it likes in a pandemic’ (EPA)

Many things have confused me this week, including the decision by some schools to let children go in late the morning after the England vs Italy match on Sunday night. I really tussled with this one – I just couldn’t understand why.

I get that big England matches can be a source of national pride (nearly) and “it’s history, innit”, but the overwhelming message seems to be that a single male-dominated sport transcends everything else. If pupils are going to traipse in late after the footie, then why not after the Eurovision Song Contest?

Surely if kids stay up past their usual bedtimes, most of them will wear their exhaustion as a badge of honour: “Yeah mate, me too, tough night”.

And it’s not as though they’d been drinking – they weren’t going to throw up halfway through colouring-in time.

At the risk of sounding like a complete misery guts, over the past few weeks we have witnessed football being given some kind of golden ticket to do whatever it likes during a pandemic. Meanwhile, those of us who aren’t big fans were forced to look on with the indulgence of young mothers watching their children at soft play. “Ah, isn’t it sweet.”

And a lot of it has been sweet, thanks to the decency of manager Gareth Southgate and a raft of politically and socially aware young players ensuring that the old face of badly behaved football looks very passé. But let’s not forget that in pursuit of the beautiful game, Leicester Square got utterly trashed by a mob of p****d fans hours before the match had even begun.

No one expects football fans to behave like a load of maiden aunts on a church outing circa 1950, but last Wednesday – coming home alone from a gig that clashed with the Denmark game – I was semi-hysterical at the thought of being on a bus with masses of them.

Around 10pm, as I waited at a stop in Soho, with the surrounding pubs vibrating with tension and the minutes ticking by into extra time, I suddenly panicked and opted for the safety of an Uber. I shouldn’t have felt like this, but I did. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of sharing a crowded top deck with a bunch of chanting, mostly-unmasked chaps, even if they were deliriously happy.

I’m feeling conflicted over a lot of things this week, and I’ve come to the conclusion that even supposedly beautiful things can have an ugly side.

Take Love Island: I know, I shouldn’t be watching, but I fell into it accidently while Netflix-free on holiday. This is the dating reality show on ITV2, which is both as simple and as complicated as the football – on the surface it seems straightforward; the common goal among the girl and boy contestants is to find love. But within this pursuit, there are all sorts of secret rules and unfathomable “offences”.

This week, teacher Hugo (the most obviously middle-class and least fancied) came a cropper after over using the word “fake” in the context of not fancying “fake” girls. Of the eight 20-something female contestants, only one – the delightful and “long-Toby-suffering” Kaz, has had no work done at all; while several admitted the triple whammy: “boobs, lips and botox”. Two of the surgically enhanced young women took exception to what they saw as Hugo’s slur, and Hugo ended up crying.

The girls’ argument was that they felt “pressured” to have their boobs done – mostly, I presume by men – but in his defence, that pressure isn’t coming from men like Hugo, so I couldn’t see why he was getting it in the neck.

Hugo was so upset and obviously terrified of being “cancelled” live on telly that he wept and apologised – and no real debate was had around the fire pit. Meanwhile, elsewhere in the villa, foul play was rampant: men were telling girls they were coupled up with that if other women they fancied turned up in the house, they might stray; and girls were betraying other girls but insisting “no bad feelings, hun”. Sneaky offside snogs were happening in tucked away corners with personal mics picking up every telltale slurp.

There is no real reason for me to be watching this show – it’s certainly not aimed at my demographic – and yet I’m transfixed. At a time when social media is reaching peak “woke”, it seems bizarre that there is this bubble of old-fashioned, oh-so-heterosexual “copping off” going on in the sun.

It’s like the past few years never happened: pretty girls in bikinis are flirting with handsome hunks; and – like the football – it’s all so very pre-pandemic.

Maybe that’s its appeal? If football can come home and Love Island hotties can find love, then surely normality is within grasp for us all. And yet, with less than a week to go before “freedom day”, I can’t help feeling anxious about what happens next. Fingers crossed we have a happy ever after, without any penalties.