And so it begins...

Saturday: Up early-ish, out for a run (geez! Quite a long one too!), although on the downside, hayfever finally kicked in like it's been threatening to for the last week, so not only did I look like a sweaty mouth-breather, I looked like a sweaty, snotty mouth-breather with blood-shot eyes; in fact, I probably looked a lot like one of the zombies in 28 Days Later. And what's the rule about how many sneezes it takes to kill you? I did about 12 in a row, and I thought the old wive's tale was that nine would drop you? Maybe I'm an immortal... "THERE CAN BE ONLY ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

On the plus side, the weather is scorching, and the sun felt great; Ooo, maybe I'm Kryptonian...? When do my damned powers start kicking in. Oh, wait, I think the heat vision is beginning; I gave some chav a particularly withering gaze... Muwahahaha.

I've got some killer new tan lines too.

Of course, today was the day of the first England match in the World Cup. Hooray, I thought, for completely different reasons to everyone else in the country (not that I begrudge everyone their footie; in fact, I like the way everyone's united behind a common goal - I just don't need to be a part of it). Two minutes after kick-off I was in the car and off to Kingston (Upon-Thames, not Jamaica, as if I needed to say it again). The roads were empty, I had the new album by The Feeling blasting out of the stereo... life was damn fine! That said, I have to admit that the shops weren't actually as empty as I'd expected them to be, but there was an incredibly high female-to-male ratio; I felt like Y – The Last Man, just without the pet monkey. Shame. I'd like a pet monkey. Anyway, blitzed Dad's Father's day AND birthday presents (how damned inconsiderate of him to coincide both within the space of a week), and grabbed an iced latte to cool off.

Around this time I started checking my phone, firing off a few texts to see what people were up to... And that's about the time that I realised something Earth-shattering.

Something that made me realise you have to take the good with the bad... I'm paying a price for my empty roads, my empty shops... my chance to streak through Hammersmith's Tramp's Urinal in the middle of the day without being seen by a soul...

For the next four weeks, I have no friends.

I am a football widower.

Shit.