Regular readers of this blog might remember my run in with the officious telephonist at Envirocall who insisted on knowing my marital status before arranging for my defunct toaster to be taken away.

Maybe we're getting stroppy with age, or something in the Welsh water, because my oldest best friend sent me this via email yesterday evening ...

IT looks like my next professional fight won't be shown across the world after all.

I was due to be on the undercard when Canadian Steve Molitor defended his IBF super bantamweight title against Jason Booth at Rainton Meadows on July 23.

But Molitor's had to delay the fight until September because of injury and with Stuey Hall's Commonwealth title defence topping the bill instead we'll probably have to settle for a big Sky TV Friday night audience.

It had been coming. June 27, 2010 was at least four years in the making for the 'Golden Generation'.

England have been due a good hiding at the hands of one of football's progressive superpowers for a while now. That they have been able to dodge a bullet for so long is solely down to the fact that international football so rarely brings them into direct competition with one of the six or seven sides capable of exposing our glaring deficiencies.

OK, there are friendly matches against the big guns from time to time but they are notorious for creating a false impression. It is at tournaments where we really get a sense of our place in the international hierarchy and yesterday's denouement was every bit as depressing as I'd feared.

It's cloudy, and windy - far too cloudy and windy for this part of the world, at this time of year. It's supposed to be warm, but instead, I shiver. I rock my chair and deny myself the luxury of a cup of coffee. My mouth tastes bitter and my palms dry up. I cut my fingers as I run them through my rough hair. I try to walk, but I can't. I can barely stand the view outside my window. More under-construction buildings, reaching high, blocking the view to the city beyond. A woman walks past, or maybe it was a man. I don't care. I try not to succumb to my failures, and think of my successes. Or I could just surrender. Outside, I try to push through the crowds. Words I think of slap my face. Too little, but maybe, not too late. I try to find a face that will give me a sign. Just one more curve. I keep going. On the crest of the hill, I see broken bottles and dead daffodils lying on the ground. I lie beside them. I can lie as long as I want here. The daffodils won't complain, they're dead. Weeds are free to slip up through the cracking earth. I brush them with my unbending fingers. It gets dark, and I'm still there. The city below disappears beneath dark clouds. The voices of children are drawn out. I am alone. I have been here before. My veins bulge. Now, all I hear is the wind whistling, strengthening, often carrying dead daffodils on its rushed travels. It's pitch black now. My mind is blank, and I start to hear a voice. It's coming to take me. It treads on my chest. The air I gasp tastes rusty, and my fingers dig into the earth beneath me. Pressure crushes my ribs and I choke, but I hold the pain in. I let it hurt me.

It's the end of the world. It's the day I remember my purpose in life. It's the day I remember my unfinished novel.

Do you remember the Graham Taylor documentary 'The Impossible Job'? The then England boss, in a move borne of either extreme naivety or rock solid confidence that we'd qualify, agreed to allow cameras to follow him during the 1994 qualification process with fascinating results.

Well, here's a glimpse into what would happen if Fabio Capello agreed to the same thing..

A Spanish TV channel employed a lip reader to make sense of Capello's volcanic touchline eruptions - and discovered that even Stuart Pearce is submissive round the England boss. A fascinating (and hilarious) insight into what makes the Italian tick - and is there a little hint of humour from Don Fabio in there too...?

Two brothers, two interviews, several differences. That's the short of it after I interview David Miliband in the pub during the England football game against Slovenia and Ed Miliband on the phone.

Both of them dearly love each other as brothers and want to keep it that way. That is great. But it is intersting to note the differences in policy, Ed backs the CGT rise while David says the mansion tax would have better than a VAT hike.

David calls the Lib Dems "charlatans", Ed's inviting them to his party.

The Journal today carries interviews with all the Labour leadership hopefuls, but this blog carries some extended comments from the Miliband brothers.

Watching Leona Lewis on stage at the Metro Radio Arena in Newcastle last night, I was captivated not so much by the music, but by her make-up.

For her 'Labyrinth' tour, inspired by the fantastical 80's film starring David Bowie, Leona has the most dreamy, sparkly, beautifully made-up look imaginable.

Tomorrow afternoon (26 June) Tyne Bridge Morris will be dancing at Woodlawn School Summer Fayre in West Monkseaton.
The Fayre is on from 12noon until 3pm and our performance will be from 12.15 for about half an hour.
We will be followed by the fifty strong North Tyneside Youth Band who will play from about 1pm until they run out of puff or repertoire around about 2pm.
There will be a (hopefully) static display of vintage cars and the Tynemouth Volunteer Life Brigade's vehicle. Provided there are no emergencies Whitley Bay's fire engine has also promised to attend.

The nation may be waiting with baited breath to see if England can bring home football.

But Ed Miliband, battling to become the next Labour leader, this morning declared we can win the World Cup.

In an exclusive interview, he said he was looking forward to the match against old adversaries Germany.

"I think we should be practising our penalties. I am quite optimistic.

"I was even quite optimistic even when we had those first two difficult results because I thought well actually we just need to get through to the next round.

The 'big five' is a term used by game hunters to describe the most difficult animals in Africa to hunt by foot, but it could just as easily refer to England's treacherous route to the World Cup final in Soccer City.

OK, we only have to slay three big beasts to make it to Johannesburg but still - daunting isn't the word.

A vibrant, fearless Germany on Sunday before a potential meeting with free-wheeling tournament favourites Argentina next week. And then, just when optimism about possibly matching the achievements of 1966 would be legitimate, Brazil emerge as potential semi-final opponents. That would be the same Brazil that England have never defeated in a World Cup finals.