Cheer up...

So, a nation mourns: again; the years of hurting: not over; those flags of red and white that so lately fluttered thrillingly now hang limp or are forlornly furled. England's heroes, undone by wile, guile and samba, limp away from the showdown in Shizuoka, nursing their collective pride, groin, metatarsal, and pony tail as our sun sets in the land where it rises.

So, a nation mourns: again; the years of hurting: not over; those flags of red and white that so lately fluttered thrillingly now hang limp or are forlornly furled. England's heroes, undone by wile, guile and samba, limp away from the showdown in Shizuoka, nursing their collective pride, groin, metatarsal, and pony tail as our sun sets in the land where it rises.

All right, all right. Enough. You have not come down here for high emotion. You need consolation. Ready? It is summer. All this early-morning bonhomie can be rather enervating. As can the nation pulling together. That face paint plays havoc with the complexion, too. You are bored with the theme from The Great Escape. You can get on with tiling the bathroom. It has made you strong for Wimbledon. We're still unbeatable in the Boat Race. Better?