Four of us were driving down to Spain that afternoon, and our only coverage of the game was on our radio.
We were so frustrated when we lost the signal at 1-1. Well through France by now, we were amazed to drive through a small village and find a cafe with what we could see had a TV inside. Crowded, the game was on!
Us two fellows nuzzled through to the front somehow, leaving our girls outside with a drink. When England scored, we threw our arms in the air with one hell of a cheer. Silence! A little lad turned to an elder, saying ''Papa-papa, Eine English man ya?'' the cafe was full of Germans!
Unfortunately, we had to leave, as we needed to make the campsite in Spain by nightfall. However, more frustration, we did not know the final score until we reached the Spanish border. At that point, seeing our passports the border guards beamed with delight pointing to the score they had pinned to the approach window of their kiosk.
From then on, we were challenged to a game by any of the Germans we came across on the beach. We made traditional goals out of our clothes, while they ''laid out their towels'' and so, to this day, their irritating tradition continues.
Did we start it? Te-he!
Graham Cook
Memory added on February 24, 2016
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