- 19 Oct 07, 10:22 PM
Paris, Friday evening - Right – let’s get down to business.
Like my Bloggernaut compadre Dirsy, my nerves are currently clanging like a fire engine bell.
And while Ben is dealing with his personal squeaky-bum hour by splitting his time equally between the bathroom and his packet of cigarettes, I’m going for the classic diversionary tactics.
Rather than torturing myself with the thought of how I’ll feel if I don’t get a ticket, I’m drawing up a provisional timetable for Saturday’s shenanigans.
Currently it reads like this:
8am: Wake in a cold sweat
8.30am: Toy wanly with a piece of toast before pushing it away
8.40am: Turn down Ben’s request for a “special World Cup final hug”
9am: Go for head-clearing run to Eiffel Tower
9.50am: Clean various shapes of dog faeces off trainers
10.05am: Ring the last 10 people to phone my mobile, just in case any of them forgot to tell me they had a spare ticket
10.20am: Ring them all again, just to be sure
11am: Pile up to Gare du Nord to greet the incoming hordes
12pm: Grab some lunch in café opposite the GdN with three men dressed as medieval knights and 14 Asterixs
12.30pm: Lend Dirs another 50 Euros for fags
1pm: Head over to the Champs de Mars to inhale the heady atmosphere
1.30pm: Fail to bum ticket off bash-nosed former player in Rugby Village
2pm: Join in game of touch rugby with jovial Springboks fans
2.03pm: Limp out of game following spear tackle by two middle-aged women
4pm: Hobble over to Frog and Princess boozarium in St Germain; take on board stiff reviver
5pm: Either win rugby equivalent of national lottery by bagging holy ticket. Or, launch into night of stomach-churning abandon
6pm: Feel stomach flipping Beth Tweddle-style somersaults and semi-ingested food performing handbrake-style u-turns
6.30pm: Decide England are definitely going to win
6.31pm: Decide England have no chance whatsoever
7pm: Give Dirsy his special World Cup final hug
8pm: Run around in circles like a demented wind-up toy
8.50pm: Shake hands with every Springbok fan within reach
8.59pm (remember, it's a 9pm kick-off over here): Puff out cheeks, take three deep breaths and start to bellow like a distressed ox
What about you? Any schedules you’d care to share?
Tom Fordyce is a BBC Sport journalist travelling around France in a camper van with Ben Dirs. Click here to search for all of Tom and Ben's blog videos.