Phew. Mighty hot both here and there come the long-awaited 2pm kick-off. Five minutes later the England boys were a fortuitous goal up against Paraguay: grazie, Mr Gamarra.

Little else of note in the remaining 85 minutes, truth be told. I can, however, exclusively reveal that when little Michael Owen came off, ever littler Theo wasn't available for Sven Sony-Ericsson. See, he'd taken off his new £7 off-the-market Ingerland kit in favour of his Spider-Man trunks to splash around in the paddling pool. Gotta stay cool in this darn heat even if it means not winning your first cap.

Was called away to fix next door's new wireless router -- titter ye not -- thus missing the first ampersand of the tournament as Trinidad & Susannah shared no goals with the Swedes, who were too busy Larsson about.

A footy-free zone while Doctor Who battled his satanic majesty in a philosophical episode, then the traditional switch to BBC3 for Confidential, so Argentina already 2-0 up on the apostrophe'd Cote d'Ivoire when I assumed control of the official World Cup chair. Cheered when Drogba pulled one back: is there some FIFA regulation stating that there must be at least one Chelsea player per team?