Why do we dread England winning the Euros?
You cant have failed to sing the song in your head, even when it was typed out in newspaper reports, or on social media. Its coming home/Its Coming Home/Its coming After Englands win over Germany earlier this week  their first in a major tournament in 55 years, as were constantly being told  the teams fans appeared to go a bit berserk. Decades of hurt, according to one newspaper report, were ended. Scenes from Wembley Stadium looked like a Hieronymus Bosch painting, and not necessarily in a good way. At one point, things took a turn for the truly questionable and the stereotype about dumb English football fans seemed to hold a little water for a moment. Grown men were seen tweeting a screen grab of a (very) little German girl crying at the match. With one Twitter user referring to the images with the caption inject it into my veins, others added their bit. Among the choice reactions to the image: Cry you little Nazi, German slag, Stupid bitch. When it comes to Englands rivalry with Germany of course, the football is only half the story. Part of it is couched in an ill-conceived post-war patriotism, and is coming at a curious time of Brexit-prompted English nationalism. Yet theres a reason these tweets are doing a brisk round online: because they seem to capture a boorish, awful stereotype about English fans  however graceful (or not) they might be in defeat, they are entirely graceless in victory. But Tuesday nights orgy of chest-thumping left a bad taste in my mouth. England are now headed to a quarter-final with Ukraine this Saturday and a friend articulated what Id been feeling all morning on WhatsApp. Imagine if they went all the way? he said. Wed honestly never hear the end of it.  Theres a grain of truth to that: a certain type of English football fan cannot get over the fact that its been 55 years since Bobby Moore lifted the World Cup (to be fair, the Irish football fan isnt entirely without sin in this regard, nostalgic as they are for a moment 31 years ago when we got to a quarter-final). Ask the right person in the UK and theyll swear blind that Englands 1966 World Cup win propelled Harold Wilson into Downing Street, prompting a turnaround in fortunes for the entire country. And England could definitely do with a morale boost. Still, it makes you wonder about the ABE (Anyone but England) phenomenon. Perhaps for the Irish, it too is based on political relations that have nothing to do with football. Its a shame the English football hooligan stereotype has stuck because the overwhelming majority of them are balanced, gracious people that treat football for what it is: a pleasing, leisurely distraction that doesnt prompt them to rip out stadium seats and declare themselves overlords of the universe. Like every other football fan, theyre proud when their team does well on a world stage. Theyre the people for whom the enjoyment of the game is ruined thanks to a small minority. Ill be thinking of them as England move forward through the Euros and Ill be wishing them well. But maybe not that well. Love is in the hair... so far  Love Island is finally in full swing: well, I say full swing, but so far the action appears limited to beautiful women getting their egos checked, young men being players and general banter. If you wanted proof that Gen-Z dating is bewilderingly shallow (see Faye hiding her disappointment that Brad is just a labourer), you have it in spades here. You could set your watch to the goings-on: the women closest to a very specific bodily ideal (blonde, lithe, pouty, busty, tanned) seem to be going great guns in the popularity stakes, while the men with great teeth, perfect tans and pecs also appear to be the most desired. I know people are still working off first impressions, but still. Sorry, its not going to help you get ahead on Love Island as much as the right Pretty Little Thing bikini will. Ive long believed Love Island is a sort of Trojan horse that invites wider discussions on consent, toxic masculinity, gaslighting and female desire. It certainly did during 2019s series. And its not Love Islands job to provide right-on messaging for its viewers; were here for the drama, the escapism and the myriad sexual entanglements. Still, I cant help but wonder if all this shallowness has a less-than-edifying context: stray too far from a prescribed physical ideal and you wont get the guy or girl. No festival encore for me  Last weekend, the BBC aired some of its best Glastonbury performances on the June weekend that the four-day extravaganza is usually set. No doubt these throwbacks were meant to elicit a sort of weepy nostalgia about the muddy bonhomie of music festivals; the arms-around-the-world gaiety that can only be created while listening to music in a field, drinking warm beer, dying for the loo, idly wondering if youll make it back to your tent in one piece later. If anything, these Glasto performances have convinced me that my festival moments are far, far, behind me.