Andrew writes about football. Yes, really.

My previous school offered rather less appeal. Aside from singing in the choir, which helped foster a lifelong affection for classical music, and choral works in particular, there was little to commend it. There was, however, one memorable football match during which I somehow managed to score a goal or two. No one was more surprised than I was. But I do recall feeling a certain pride in my achievement. Sadly, the experience was never repeated and thus my footballing career both began and ended in the space of a single afternoon.

Which perhaps explains why I was largely unaware that the World Cup is about to start, until someone mentioned it to me. Apparently, a great many people become wildly excited by the whole affair, consuming heroic quantities of food, and drinking bathfulls of beer in the process... apparently.

Now, as it happens, this is the second week running that the marketing department at Art of Living (a dark and secret society who report to no one it seems…) have held a gun to my head (let’s hope it doesn’t become habit forming) and instructed me to write about football. You might as well ask me to perform brain surgery or calculate the hypotenuse of a circle. It's simply not my thing.

Fortunately, I've one or two chums in the business who have willingly, dare I say unselfishly, offered to help. So, what follows are not my words but those of Andi, our website development manager, probably encouraged, if not actively bullied, by David, who heads up the warehouse team. So as one who can only just about identify a football when handed one, I feel you’ll get better shrift from one of my favourite Mancunians, our web developer, and a hometown Manchester United supporter, Andi Healey. 

I was born in Manchester in 1966, the year England won the World Cup. Therefore, I have never seen England win the World Cup. That detail has shaped most of my relationship with international football and, honestly, with hope in general.

​My grandparents were Irish, which means I've always had a secondary allegiance to call on when England are making a mess of things, which feels like most of the time. In 1990 I was watching both sides simultaneously: Gazza dissolving into tears in Turin when he realised a yellow card meant he'd miss a final England never reached anyway, and Jack Charlton's Ireland side drawing every single game they played and somehow making it feel like a triumph. David O'Leary stepping up for that penalty against Romania, to get through to the quarter-finals. Having Irish grandparents had never felt better.

Four years later, Ireland beat Italy at Giants Stadium, Ray Houghton looping one over Italian goalie Pagliuca in the New York heat, Paul McGrath playing the game of his life.

​Then the final: Brazil against Italy at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, kick-off 12.30pm California time, which meant 8.30pm in the UK. I watched it at my dad's house on the edge of the Pennines, between Manchester and Sheffield, the two of us settled in for the long haul. It went to extra time. It went to penalties. Roberto Baggio stepped up needing to score to keep Italy alive and sent it over the bar, and that was that. Brazil, world champions again. It was well past midnight when it finished. I had to be at work in Surrey at 7am, a four-hour drive away. I stayed for the presentation anyway. Some things you just don't miss.

​My dad and I watched every final together until he died in 2007. Italy beat France the year before, in Berlin, in a match that had controversial decisions, a bizarre headbutt and sending off involving the world’s best player, and another penalty shoot-out. I remember thinking afterwards that I was glad we'd had a good one near the end. I still watch every final. It's just different now.

​The World Cup kicks off on Thursday (11 June). Thirty-nine days, 104 matches, I expect the usual mixture of brilliance and heartbreak. I'm already thinking about what I'll cook (and drink).

Pizza

​

​If you have a pizza oven then you’ll know how much better homemade pizza is. If not, then a pizza pan, or Silverwood Heavy Duty Baking Sheet, properly preheated will produce a base that's genuinely better than most things you'd order in. A sprinkle of semolina and your pizza will run off smoother than David Beckham at the final whistle.

​If you've been thinking about one, a summer of football is a very good reason to commit.

Beer

The beer glasses matter more than people give them credit for. There is a real difference between a cold beer in a proper glass and the same beer out of whatever was clean. Barware is one of those things that quietly improves an evening without you being able to say exactly why.

Wine

If you’re being particularly civilised about your World Cup entertaining then nothing says “I’m a sophisticated football fan” quite like decanting your wine in a Riedel Amadeo decanter bedecked in the colours of your national team.

We have:

• Black Red Yellow - Germany

• Black Yellow Red - Belgium

• Red White Blue - UK, USA, France, Norway, Czech Republic, Netherlands, Croatia

• Red Yellow Red - Spain

• Yellow Blue - Sweden

• Red White Green - Mexico, Iran

Andrew