And so it begins....

It's begun.

The low level feeling of uneasiness that has been apparent in me for the last few days has now morphed into an all encompassing queasiness - my legs are shaking, my stomach is tied up in knots, I'm chewing pen lids like there is no tomorrow. It's that familiar feeling I get every two years when England start reaching the higher stages of the World Cup or European Championships.

I've ranted and raved about the way England have played so far but now I really don't care how we play - winning the next three games is all that matters and if we have to do that playing like Watford then so be it. Greece did it in 2004 after all.

I think by this time tomorrow I will be found gazing at a pack of Malboro Lights in a newsagent seriously considering taking up the habit again just to stop my body going into uncontrollable spasms of nervousness and excitement.

This is it. The business end of the tournament. The bit that really matters, that really hurts. When not even a cuddle from your mum can make it alright.

But I'm ready, I'm ready to cry tears of bitter disappointment once more, ready to curse Ericsson, ready to feel hollow for the next month. I'm prepared.

Fuck, who am I kidding? I'm not ready at all. I'm all over the shop. Why? Because no matter how many times it's happened before there's still an optimist in me - still some hope that we can do it this time. The hope is always what kills you. Always.

So let's hope that this year is the year when our dreams can be realised. At last.

Come on England!