Football fever has taken over our house during the past few weeks.

Even daughter, famous for being impossible to get out of bed - and usually being less than reluctant to get to school on time never mind early - was up at the crack of dawn last Friday.

She had coaxed her Grandad into giving her a lift at 7.10am so she could watch the big match with all her friends in the school library.

I arranged to watch the first half at home and then went into work at half time, heading straight for the TV.

As it was my last day in the old job, I reckoned it was a reasonable thing to do.

Of course, the end result was a saddening defeat but I thought we played well.

My last week at work had been rather manic, partly because my colleague Eileen had broken her arm and was off sick.

She had done this playing football in celebration after the previous week's England win.

I am told our A&E department had to deal with a number of injuries related to people reliving the earlier matches.

They should have warmed up properly before they took to the pitch, or perhaps they should have stayed on the sofa or in the pub.

I will be able to follow Eileen's recovery in my new job in orthopaedic outpatients.

I reckon she broke her arm on purpose because she'll miss me and wanted to make sure she had a good reason for popping up to my new department for a cuppa.

We all went for a goodbye drink after my last day and I got some beautiful presents and flowers. I felt quite sentimental by the time I arrived home.

The big event this weekend is Party in the Park, which will be over by the time you read this.

Daughter has been desperate to get pit passes so she could get even closer to her idol, Gareth Gates. She has spent every evening during the past two weeks trying to get through to the local radio station which is giving them out. You had to wait until they played a certain song before you could call them.

This meant daughter had all three of our mobile phones, as well as the ordinary phone, set to ring the number.

This meant her Dad and I had to help man her self-invented switchboard and sit poised ready to press the call now buttons on her instructions.

I have realised I am less than useless at naming that tune in one or even thirty seconds and had to wait for her confirmation that it was the right song each time.

Her Dad is a lot better at it than me, probably because of the amount of MTV he watches.

Anyway, even between the three of us we failed mis-erably and she will just have to sit in the park like everybody else.

At least I will be able to spend my evenings doing the ironing rather than manning the phone now it's all over.