If there’s ever a good time to be out of work, it’s probably now.

With the Euros, the Olympics and Wimbledon all locked and loaded, rather than networking, putting out feelers and seeking new employment I can sit on my arse and watch sport until the cows come home. I’ve not relayed my plan to my wife yet, but I feel fully confident she will agree.

It is but a minor hurdle that I know very little about any of the teams or their players unless they play for Arsenal or are big names in the Premier League. In fact that makes it better, I think. My ignorance and lack of curiosity lend a certain exoticism to the whole thing that more earnest students of world football might not possess.

(I digress, but I remember my mum and dad had a book on the shelf in the loo when I was young called something like ‘What men know about women’ and there was not a word of print on any of the 250 pages. I feel this way a bit about Euro 2024.)

And there’s nothing better than the early stages of a big football tournament when there are three games a day on the telly. Especially when you don’t need to pretend you’re working. It doesn’t matter what they are, not one bit. If it’s on at 2, I’m in at 2. That’s my new mantra.

Everyone says England have a great chance, and maybe they do, but I’m not falling for that – it sounds disturbingly like optimism. Lord no. Disappointment is England’s middle name, and underachievement its sobriquet. I will approach with caution.

Plus, have you seen the French lads? They are so achingly hip. We cannot compete with this. 

Just bring it all on. I cannot wait for the wall-to-wall football and to bond more firmly with my television. These relationships need nurturing, and nurture them I shall. 

Can’t wait.