Eh. Strange... *pats down self* Uuuuuummmm *rummages in pockets* OK, there are my keys... *fumbles around arse area*... have the wallet... *climbs into cavernous handbag* Have the make up sack, too... So why do I feel severely pilfered? Naked. Bereft of something precious and inexplicably important - like my hope and DREAMS! *collapses dramatically across desk*

In all seriousness, we here in headquarters are truly devastated. The fact that we have a typically sensitive Parisian working in the office is really helping matters. He paraded towards the kitchen first thing this morning, waving a miniature French flag and singing loudly. I should point out that he chose to do so when there were only females in the office at the time. I considered slide tackling him by the water cooler, but I am a lady (and I've just after learning it's his birthday, so best leave him off... Bon anniversaire, Remi. Now please remove that French flag from your back pocket; you're asking for trouble).

To clarify: the French handball team have swiped what was rightfully ours, commandeering our little nation's need to have something to focus on - other than the weather and the state of our economy. Our desire to recapture the glow from the summer of 1990 must remain but an ever-distancing memory...

Balls to the faux poeticism and on with the haphazardly constructed cynicism. France were never not going to the world cup (sure they won the bloody thing in '98). In short, it all boils down to money. France is a well-coffered, large nation who will no doubt spend a fair whack in, and en route to, South Africa. You see, what I'm trying to not-so-covertly elude to is... the ref and linesmen were clearly told to let that one go. Sure, as Johnny Giles said afterwards, if that were the case the ref could've awarded the French that penalty, or allowed the offside goal… but I believe the Swedish officials were slightly irked at being railroaded in to letting France through and therefore allowed them to proceed with the most undignified, embarrassing and underHAND goal imaginable - the captain of the team lopping the ball in the direction of the goal with his hand.

MORTO for you, France.

OK, I know bugger all about football, but I am an exceptionally paranoid person and therefore wholeheartedly believe the latter to be true. I also know I'll have to wait at least another 5 years to feel how I did when I was twelve... Although, let's not forget the European Championships...

UPDATE: There's currently a petition to rename Henry Street.