It was not meant to be like this. I am in my mid-30s, a family man with a responsible job and a, generally, responsible lifestyle.
But yet now I flip from despair to delight in the space of three minutes while my social and personal life is currently determined between events at 5pm and 8pm and 11pm.
The fact that I am writing this while staying up to watch Russia take on South Korea tells you everything. World Cup 2014 has well and truly got me gripped. Maybe it was the Panini sticker book (less than 40 needed folks) or the enthusiasm of my six-year-old son filling in his wall-chart – yes, his wall-chart.
Maybe it is because the offices of West Suffolk Hospital, where I work, are buzzing over debate on Wayne Rooney’s England future and, equally important, who is winning the World Cup predictor league.
A similar scenario will be taking place in workplaces up and down West Suffolk and beyond, I know I am not alone even if this obsession is not shared with everyone at BFP Towers (I am looking at you Henderson). Regardless of the reasoning, or indeed lack of it, my body clock has now mastered a dual existence in Brazil and Bury. The 5pm and 8pm kick offs are eminently do-able, even my wife has quickly conceded any control of the television. The 11pm is a little more taxing, especially on a school night, but I am barely missing a minute.
Now dear readers, please don’t think I am living the high life watching Chile take on Australia over a few jars in a local watering hole. Nothing more than a hot chocolate is my late night tipple of choice, aiding my attempts to stay awake. In truth. I often watch the first half live with the second half recorded and watched at 6am the next morning. And of course I don’t know the score.
While I have enjoyed revelling as a neutral, no World Cup is complete without the pain of following England. By the time you read this, you will know their fate against Uruguay.
My life will get back to normal, but I am wishing the week away until last night’s match while at the same time starting to feel a little nauseous at the thought of England exiting after only game two.
I appreciate there will be some that view my antics as a little sad. But I know I am not alone. A work colleague, someone far more sophisticated than me, shared my huge disappointment on Sunday morning, post-Italy. And I stopped worrying about such views when I started receiving Panini World Cup sticker swaps through the post. I am past help.