Why I hate the World Cup.

 

I was working for a newspaper that wanted to cover the World Cup, but couldn’t afford to send a photographer.
So I would end up a non smoker sat under the big screen in a smoke-filled pub in darkest Twerton.
Watching the audience filling up with booze and shouting at the screen while I fired my flash in their faces and blinded them every time the action got going.

After England lost as usually happened, I trudged around town late at night looking for unhappy fans and waiting to be mugged.