We were back in Stockholm this evening in time for a certain football match. I watched part of it on a giant screen in a square near to our hotel, the rest back in my room. What is there to say? We were, quite simply, treated to a master class. I shudder to think how the England team would have fared against such a team. The Italians were understandably gutted, particularly Andrea Pirlo, who had had such a good tournament until the final. As spectacle, the final provided great entertainment and was a good advertisement for the game. I am glad for Torres that he scored but, like many I suspect, the images of the final that will live on in my memory are Pirlo’s sad tears on the one hand and Torres’s children in his arms on the other. And now we have a few free evenings before Wimbledon starts to worm its way into our consciousness…