This Is Not A
Three Shirts On The Line...
Having seen at least two attempts in the Gurniad these past few days to resurrect that appalling ear-snake of a song by Skinner, Baddiel and Broudie from 1996 (a song where the lyrics' apparent national self-reflection is actually little more than a cover for national self-regard of the 'oh, aren't we cute?' variety), I can at least recall a misunderstanding I had with regard to one line of the lyrics.
When I heard the words, "...and Nobby dancing...", I mistook the phrase for one of those terrible nineties laddish euphemisms. I imagined a conversation in a pub in Romford on a Friday night:
"'Ere, din see yer aht last weeken' ven, mite?"
"Nah. Wen' up Sahfend to see me tart, dinn-eye?"
"Did yer do any knobby dancin' (yuk, yuk, yuk!)?"
"Nah, she woz on ver bleedin' rag, wunshee?"
At which thought, considering the dickery we've already had to endure because Ing-ur-lund have managed to beat, in sequence: the weakest African team in the tournament; a team from the Central American equivalent of the Bananarama League; a team of inconsistent bottlers from South America missing its best player; and a team which would have been more entertaining had it contained more examples of its country's system furniture; and having lost to the only strong team it has faced so far; bearing this in mind, then, I end with an earnest plea:
Spasi nas, Hrvatska!