To the English fans
For the minge at the local pub with fake tan on but begins to look good after two or three pint goggles.
For the always skint, 30 something single working mother who works as a waitress at the Harvester who saves half a fag for after dinner.
For those of us who shop at Tesco first thing Monday morning. Wearing of course the Londsdale sweats we got on sale from Sports Direct. Not from the web, we go to the actual store in our retail shopping park.
To the teenage mom pushing her baby trolley on the high street. Tottering a bit as she had a couple of pints at her local.
To Tom, Dick and Harry. Their white vans securely parked outside their terrace home, now quickly putting on an England shirt ready for the pub to watch the game after a hard days work.
His mates already waiting for him at the pub. The ones on benefit. Those whose jobs all the bloody migrants have taken away.
To me mate and patron of purveyor of all goods related to civilised smoking. IT executive by day, want to be ‘rock’n rolla’ after 6pm.
To the old biddies from Manchester, the ones who carried posies all the way by train to hand them Her Majesty on her golden jubilee parade in London.
To the black cabbie that picked me up from Soho, took me to St. Pancras International and back, just to get to Chinatown, and yelled at me all the way to add insult to injury.
To the teenage girls from the English countryside. Those who give hand jobs to the local Moroccan drug dealer in exchange for drugs.
To the guy outside the West Hampstead train station stairs. The one who says good morning to me and gives me a heavy toothless smile in exchange for a few pence. Sir, I admire the collection of fan tattoos you seem to have collected over time.
For the bouncers at the worst pub on our high street, where even your pack of fags is checked carefully for drugs. Their thinking of putting a finger up the patrons butts too if the violence continues.
To the monthly, 25th of the month binge drinkers. Both men, women and others.
To the English who get into debt just to fly for the EURO2012 to support England. The ones who put on the shirt even if it’s watching an England game on the home telly.
To the real English fans
The ones who breathe and bleed England!
Come on England!
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