Sunday: Lyon
Temperatures are in the high 30s so when a reporter asks Jill Ellis if undercover members of her US staff really slipped into England’s hotel and “scoped it out” it initially sounds as if he has heatstroke. But two administrators were indeed performing reconnaissance with a view to her team moving in before the final. Phil Neville affects amused disdain while making plain his disapproval of very un-British breach of etiquette, handling his first diplomatic incident with “Nevillian” aplomb.
Monday: Lyon
As evening falls an apocalyptic storm strikes handsome Lyon, with thunder and lightning so elemental that parts of the city are hit by a major power cut. As everyone blinks in the sudden darkness and waiters search for candles, the Frenchman at the next table leans over and jokes: “Now’s the perfect time to leave without paying.” Commendably everyone stays put. Would a group of British diners have been so honest?
Tuesday: Lyon
When the team sheets are distributed, , England’s starting XI features six players – Carly Telford, Steph Houghton, Lucy Bronze, Demi Stokes, Jill Scott and Beth Mead – who started out at Sunderland. For several years the Wearside team honed some of England’s brightest talents but then their parent men’s club reduced support and they now languish two tiers beneath the Women’s Super League. These days in England there is no top-flight female football in England north of Manchester; when the FA is trying to grow the game, that is a worrying geographical imbalance.
Wednesday: Lyon
The morning after England’s defeat by the USA and time to reflect on the great divide. No, not the one between the two teams but that separating the younger generation of reporters, who often arrive without the once obligatory notepad and pen, from older colleagues. Whereas the new breed tend to jot key observations straight into their laptops, we dinosaurs who grew up in an era when it was impossible to work for a newspaper without 100wpm shorthand remain wedded to making handwritten notes before typing.
Thursday: Lyon to Nice
The gate for the flight to Nice for England’s third-place play-off has been colonised by the Sweden squad. The players board first and, as they shuffle forward, all the “civilian” passengers unite in a spontaneous round of applause before frantically whipping out mobiles and filming the moment. If anyone needed proof of France 2019’s capacity to win hearts and minds, this is it. The generosity of spirit wanes slightly at baggage reclaim as a colossal number of “Svenska” kit containers are first to emerge, keeping everyone else waiting.
Friday: Nice
Horror stories about French taxis abound but my experiences have been overwhelming positive. If I will be eternally grateful to the Parisian driver who left his cab unlocked with key in the ignition in order to carry my case into a station at full gallop as I caught a train to Lyon with a minute to spare, and Patrice is another gem. En route to yet another Neville press conference he displays deep knowledge of Newcastle United, expresses concern about Rafa Benítez’s departure and asks why Neville has not been shortlisted. One colleague is so taken with England’s coach that he jokes about demanding an immediate transfer to Tyneside should our “Benevolent Leader” indeed make that switch.
Saturday: Nice
The third-place play-off and almost time to descend from the parallel universe otherwise known as “Planet Phil”. Packing is simplified by being in a budget hotel room with minimal storage space, dictating that almost five weeks’ worth of creased, crumpled clothing has remained in the suitcase. Magazine lifestyle features keep telling us that people no longer hang things up in hotels and crave minimalism, which prompts the question: where on earth do they actually put all the stuff they constantly struggle to cram into overhead lockers on planes?
