Bridget Bardot, shapely figure, you've made a happy man very old

WHAT a difference a week makes, isn't it, hmm? You know, you dig 16 tons and what do you get? Another week older and deeper in to France '98. But mature reflection, yes?

On the one hand, pestilence, famine, Kevin Keegan, ethnic cleansing, war: on the other, David Beckham's sending off.

Let's lay off Becksie with the Brylcreem in his hair. You know, come back darling David, all is forgiven. Let's all love him and give him a big hug. A big hug and a lovely wet kiss. With tongues? I should coco. Enduring image, isn't it?

And so I take my leave of St Etienne, the jolly French alcohol free resort. And here we are in Marseille instead. South of France? Itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini?

There's a starlet, let's take her picture. And here's Bridget Bardot wearing a lovely fur coat and scarf emphasising her shapely figure. What's that Bridget? They're fake? Oh no.

You've made a happy man very old.

Brazil against Holland?

Marvellous. Dennis Bergkamp?

The genius goal against Argentina? Ronaldo? Attractive girlfriend and plays a bit of football? Wonderful. And they sell aclohol. English hooligans all gone home, isn't it, you know, small thugs in the park, Stanley knives for goal posts, give me your dinner money or I'll give you a Chinese burn. I promise I won't tell teacher, just let go of my arm.

Happy, happy days. Or were they miserable? You decide.

So, Brazil vs Holland, what do we get? Look ref, I'm diving.

Play on. Look ref, I'm diving again. Play on. Best referee of the tournament? You know, much respect. RE-SP-EC-T find out what it means to me?

You make me feel like a natural woman? Aretha Franklin?

Aggrophobic? Stay away from English hooligans, then.

Marvellous.

Brazil? The Manchester United of world football? You know, everybody likes them but no one knows why? Or are Middlesbrough the new Brazil?

You know, a bunch of expensive players underperforming week in week out?

Or are Middlesbrough the old Middlesbrough? And Brazil the new Wales? Wales against Norway? Japan and Norway against whales? Endangered species? Or is that the Welsh. I'm sorry, I've confused myself. Shall we start again?

Penalty shoot out? Scourge of the game, isn't it. Russian roulette? You know, Robert de Niro, the Deerhunter, Christopher Walken, survives an improbably long time, hmmm?

But not poor old Holland Dutch courage? Don't mind if I do.

And so to St Denis by chopper.

Let's leave it there, shall we?

Rue St Denis? Red Light District? Ladies of the night plying their trade?

You've come to the wrong place, Ron. Never mind, I'll stay here and watch the game on television. Is that a television? Someone's scored, anyway. Ahh, happy days.

France against Croatia? Terrible first half? Quick goals in the second?

They've left their concentration in the dressing room, isn't it, hmm? And their clean clothes. But Hurrah!

France win. The nation rejoices.

All these lovely ladies buying drinks for Ron in celebration.

What's that? Three thousand francs? Poor old Ron. You know, totally skint.

Sleeping rough sur le ponce de Avignon. Enduring image, isn't it?

Ron Manager is available at [email protected]

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