Day 16 – Monday 29th June – Losing to the Germans and losing sleep

JUNE 29, 2009. The date of the Final, and our last full day in Sweden.

To my excitement, England were still alive – just – after scraping through on penalties against the hosts, with Stuart Pearce’s boys up against the Germans (who else) in the showpiece occasion.

We opted to spend the hours leading up to the finale trawling the streets of Malmo, with a farewell Pizza Hut buffet our first stop. And after the longest ‘brunch’ of my life we left for a spot of shopping at around 2pm, having left the hostel just after midday.

I made the extremely overdue purchase of a pair of flip-flops from Intersport - if only I had been aware of tennis legend Bjorn Bjorg’s extensive beach wear range before spending so much time emptying sand from my trainers at every seaside stop.

The flip-flops were joined by an under-21 Euro 2009 t-shirt to complete my relative spending spree and supply of Swedish souvenirs.

Houlker spent his dosh on some very colourful Bjorn Borg underwear, both of us reluctant to return home with an excess of Swedish Kronor given the current rate.

We then set our sights on Malmo’s revolving tower in the north of the town, resulting in a stroll in the general direction of the office block which, judging by the photos in various tourist guides, wouldn’t look out of place in Manhattan.

A couple 0f snaps later, Houlker had set his sights on the play park across the road, where he looked strangely at home climbing to the top and rewarding himself with the slide route down, appearing near the bench I occupied like a parent keeping an eye on a care-free child.

Refusing to leave until after I joined him on some sort of cycle-roundabout, we decided to catch the bus back, the bumpy ride hardly improving my feeling of dizziness acquired thanks to Houlker’s manic pedalling and thus too many rotations for my liking. Wow, I’m really sounding like the life and soul now.

Our return to the hostel was delayed by McDonald’s meals 21 and 22, and some cheap booze from the supermarket to lighten the mood ahead of the night’s showdown on the pitch.

We left for the ground with an hour to spare until kick-off. Equipped with the essential England attire and flag of St George, I set about filling Daniel in on our national anthem - he having confessed to not knowing all the words back on day one. Shocking, I thought!

In fact, the new patriot among us was worrying me with his confidence of an England win on the night, having become accustomed to Houlker’s pessimistic pre-match predictions on England’s so far successful path to the Final.

Two hours later, my pre-judgement that this sudden enthusiasm for our boys to succeed was a bad omen seemed accurate, and certainly more so than my heart over head pre-tournament forecast that England captain Mark Noble would ultimately lift the trophy.

England had been soundly beaten, taught a lesson in the typically German arts of performing on the biggest stage and taking chances when they come. Even if the 4-0 scoreline was exaggerated, it was hardly unjust in favour of Germany.

We had spent the entirety of the ninety minutes trying to suck in an England goal, switching ends ourselves in the stands at half-time to see England attack from close quarters. In hindsight, maybe our collective sighs merely resulted in blowing Mesut Ozil’s free-kick agonizingly over the line to put the trophy beyond England.

Dismayed, we stayed behind in a near-empty Swedbank Stadion to recognise Germany’s achievement - the arena having been predominantly filled with locals, few Germans and perhaps even less England fans. Overall, interest from outside the host nation had been disappointingly lacking throughout the tournament.

And as for Mark Noble, the closest we got to seeing him was when Houlker struck up a conversation with the midfielder’s father when we confusingly found ourselves being escorted with the players’ families in a bid to reach the lads themselves, though we were soon set straight by an unconvinced FA official.

There was still time for Houlker to try and fulfil his ambition of smuggling home a UEFA advertising net on his way out as a ’souvenir’. Unfortunately, this only succeeded in irritating a steward to the extent that he shouted for security, prompting a quick exit that left Houlker in a bad mood eclipsing that established by the result.

As we returned to the hostel for one last bad night’s sleep, we were confronted on entering the dorm by the most horrific volume of snoring either of us had ever known. It was to the extent that it was hardly worth  trying to fight it, so we salvaged our sheets in the dark and headed to the TV room.

Trust me, this wasn’t an over-reaction either. Oddly, despite the let-down of England’s display and realising we were in for an awful night’s kip, the situation just provoked barely containable laughter as we struggled to comprehend the noise coming from one man’s nostrils.

The closest we came to an accurate comparison was ‘attempting to sleep with someone trying to drag a table across a large room’ – rather like that Will Smith scene in Men In Black*, just less high pitched. Some things are just so ridiculous that they’re funny, and this scenario was definitely one of them.

And so, Houlker lying on a solid floor and me cramped between two chairs, we tried to make the best use of the worst sleeping arrangements I can ever recall on a holiday.

It was a tough last night, but one we shall no doubt remember for a long while to come.

Highlight of the day - Our excitement at the chance to see England in a Final against the Germans.

Lowlight of the day – The outcome on the field, and then being greeted by that horrendous snoring on our return hardly made for a perfect last night.

*Video – Imagine sleeping with this in the same room… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_fSOTE6Q_I