I went to bed at 8pm with a playlist of really loud music on a 2 hour sleep timer. When I woke up at 12.45 it was deathly quiet outside, so I guessed the result.

I couldn't get back sleep after that, so I lay awake listening to the Radio 5 phone-in, with horror stories of people breaking into Wembley and attacking the spectators.

From what I saw it was people who were already inside walloping those that were breaking in.

When do tonight's games start?

13th of August.

Well that was excellent. I tuned in half way through extra time, and was able to enjoy the drama of the penalties. I felt really sorry for the young guys who missed and - considering their ethnicity - somewhat nervous for them regarding the god awful stuff that would obviously be flung their way.

The team themselves seem like the nicest group of people to have assembled for England in forever, but the unbearable triumphalism of the country itself meant I did want them to fall short. There were fans in the gardens dancing after, and singing 'It's going to Rome, it's going to Rome, it's going...'

Apart from that, great happiness reigned here. My son was actually downstairs watching the whole thing with our Italian neighbour, so the fireworks coming up from that terrace would've indicated what had transpired anyway. My mother sounded deliriously pleased, and was oddly rather sober.

Euro 2020 was a great tournament despite all the restrictions and circumstances. There were many spectacular intriguing matches with an unpredictable ending (France vs Switzerland or Spain vs Croatia, for example). True, the result of the final match disappointed me as a fan of the Three Lions, but this is a personal feeling. I think my grandchildren will turn gray and bald when England wins a cup