Sunday 13 June, 7.30pm – “So, do you have a cat’s chance in hell tonight?”
“No! But that’s no reason not to drink!”
Ah, Australians. I’ve only just met her, but Natalie is clearly a proper Australian. She's sporting a gold shirt, has the national flag draped over her shoulders, and is on the beers on a Sunday night. Game on!
I had followed a tip from an Australian friend and headed to The Prince of Teck in Earl’s Court, but it was empty - so I headed to Fulham Broadway, where I found Fever Pitch, a self-styled "World Cup pop-up bar". My doubts about whether it counts as properly Australian are overcome by an Aussie at the door, who assures me that it’s "as Australian as it gets". Who am I to argue?
The Socceroos open brightly with a clear-cut chance in the opening minutes, but that’s about the highlight of their night. Germany slowly but surely pummel them into submission, and - especially after my phenomenal time watching Ghana - the atmosphere is just a little flat.
I can say this for the Aussie crowd though: on the evidence so far, they're the best at singing their national anthem. Well done, chaps. As far as the football goes... better luck next time eh?
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