I have been looking at the computer screen trying to think of something to write about that doesn’t include South Africa or football. Well, I can’t!

Mainly because, like a good number of other middle-aged men, I have become nine years old again.

I have kept the World Cup planner from the newspaper. I have bought an England flag, an England air freshener, and a red and white hat.

I even spent a whole evening putting the fixtures into the calendar on my iPhone even though I had previously bought an app containing the full details.

To many of you – including Mrs M – this will all sound a little sad. In fact, my wife is under the impression that I might have ‘World Cup Tourettes’ because every now and then, I get the urge to shout “Come on England”.

I know I’m not alone in this; everywhere I go, I see grown men gazing at newspapers and magazines containing details of the happenings taking place on the African continent.

I spoke to an old schoolfriend today, and within seconds our conversation became focused on this, our favourite subject. My old pal is a Manchester City fan, while I support the team in red. This did not matter, however, as we became joined as fellow supporters of our national team.

I mentioned Mrs M’s view that I might have World Cup Tourettes and he chuckled as he told me about his need to sing the England football song, Three Lions, at the top of his voice while alone in his car.

My wife said this confirmed her theory that the only difference between men and cheese is that eventually the latter matures. I detected a little too much sarcasm than I thought was necessary.

I enquired as to whether she was in any way excited about the competition.

“A little,” she replied, doing a mock Mexican wave as she sat on the sofa.

No matter. I continued with my pre-tournament preparations which included ensuring that every TV in the house had good reception just in case we get a failure, and fitting the flag to my otherwise unpatriotic car.

Mrs M, in a bid to manage my expectations, suggested that I book in for some therapy should they not make it past the first round.

“Therapy?” I replied. “I will form a whole support group should that happen.”

“And where would you hold these sessions?” enquired my wife.

“Down the pub,” I replied.

My wife did a second mock Mexican wave and I am sure I heard her say “Come on England” as she left the room.

World Cup Tourettes must be catching.