SARAH VINE: The biggest World Cup losers? Women at Christmas

SARAH VINE: The biggest World Cup losers? The women who’ll have to do everything for Christmas

Honestly, has there ever been a more shambolic World Cup than this one? I’m not just talking about the belated beer ban, or the technical failures in Qatar’s ID system that left a five-year-old fan stranded at the airport, or the awful treatment of migrant workers, or the blatant homophobia, or the fact that Qatar’s human rights record could give Saudi Arabia or Iran a run for their money.

Or the regime cheerleaders, David Beckham and Gary Neville, happy to turn a blind eye to all the above in return for lining their pockets.

Or even the fact that Gianni Infantino, head of FIFA, is clearly not only a giant man-baby but also thick as mince (either that or on something).

No, the most idiotic and infuriating thing about this World Cup is the timing. The final is on December 18. That’s the Sunday before Christmas. CHRISTMAS!

I’m not even talking about the appalling conditions inside the £185-a-night so-called ‘fan villages’,, or the fact that Qatari officials have threatened to arrest, ban, or confiscate the property of anyone who dares to protest. Or the regime cheerleaders, David Beckham and Gary Neville, happy to turn a blind eye to all the above in return for lining their pockets

As if the most wonderful time of the year (allegedly) weren’t enough of a nightmare for the womenfolk of this country, now we’ve got to prepare the whole sodding thing against the backdrop of every male in the country being in the grip of an acute football-induced psychosis. Gee, thanks. Only a bunch of men could have devised such a situation. If you think I’m getting the spare room ready for your mother, wrapping presents for all your colleagues, baking my own weight in mince pies for the school Christmas fête, ordering the tree, decorating it, getting up at 3am to secure the Ocado delivery slot, remembering to post Auntie Flo in Australia’s card, micro-managing gift expectations in accordance with new budgetary restrictions and basically doing absolutely everything while you and your mates sit on the sofa making Neanderthal noises at the telly, then you’ve got another bloody thing coming.

You might have thought, being recently divorced, none of this would affect me. Ah, but my son is a 17-year-old walking football encyclopedia whose friends, as well as all being giant 6ft-tall teenagers with great big feet and vast amounts of hair, are also football-obsessed. Things are bad enough as it is, what with them all coming back to mine after football training, their boots gently steaming in the hallway, hoovering up the contents of the fridge before repairing upstairs for a heated game of FIFA on the PlayStation.

Now, just when I’m about to make the house all twinkly and cosy, with lots of lovely little delicate glass baubles and pretty candles everywhere, and an adorable Santa outfit for my little dog Muffin, they’ll clutter up my sofa with their tracksuit bottoms and North Face jackets, cracking open family-sized packets of Doritos and filling the living room with grunts and the odour of old socks and stale farts.

No, the most idiotic and infuriating thing about this World Cup is the timing. The final is on December 18. That’s the Sunday before Christmas. CHRISTMAS! (stock image)

Don’t get me wrong, I love my son and his friends, but why oh why could this not be taking place in January, which is a miserable, long bore of a month anyway, when nothing ever happens except the plop of another bill on the doormat, when all the joy has been sucked out of the world, where everyone is either broke, on a diet or teetotal – or all three? I’ll tell you why. Because if you’re a rich footballer or a FIFA executive you don’t think of all that. The lives of ordinary people don’t matter to you because you’re spending Christmas at the Four Seasons in Koh Samui, or similar, in a beachfront villa surrounded by hot and cold running staff.

Someone else will have decorated your tree for you and prepared your Christmas dinner (possibly even one of those same poor migrant workers who built all those stadiums in Qatar), and the most taxing task facing your good lady wife (or girlfriend) will be which of her many bikinis and Birkin bags to pack. As for January, you’ll be on your yacht in the Bahamas, or Antigua, or staying with your mate who owns an island.

And the best part? It will be paid for with all the money you’ve earned endorsing this shambles.

Football, eh? Such a beautiful game.

Congratulations to Adele for delivering what was, by all accounts, a barnstorming set on the first night of her long-awaited Las Vegas residency. I do wish, though, that she would drop the ‘girl from Tottenham’ schtick. ‘I’m f***ing s****ing myself,’ she said, arriving on stage to deafening cheers. Really? I’m not saying she should forget her roots, or pretend to be something she’s not, but she’s such a huge talent, such a consummate performer, that the ‘umble little me’ act just feels a bit… well, laboured. Especially when she’s reportedly being paid £2million a week.

A climate change activist claiming to be a marine biologist was arrested last week for harassing Sir David Attenborough in a restaurant. Proof, were it needed, that these people are bonkers. No one has done more than him to highlight the dangers facing the planet as a result of climate change: you’d think he’d be hailed as a hero. Instead the poor man can’t eat his dinner in peace.

● The Border Force is among those threatening to take strike action in a dispute over pay, jobs and pensions. Given the unprecedented number of illegal migrants arriving on Britain’s shores, will it really make much of a difference?

Britain’s lawless streets endanger all our kids

Prime Minister Rishi Sunak is absolutely right to highlight the dangers faced by young girls such as his own daughters alone on the streets of Britain. But it’s equally dangerous for young boys.

I don’t know a single friend whose son hasn’t either been robbed or intimidated at one time or another – often at knifepoint.

The truth is, girls aren’t the only victims of the lawlessness rampant in Britain today. All of us, as parents, have reason to worry.

● Two women were tied up and publicly shamed last week by China’s Covid police for failing to wear masks while collecting a takeaway. However bad things may seem here in Britain, at least we no longer have to put up with that madness.

Why is it that anything bearing the moniker ‘artisanal’ automatically triples the price? I walked past my local ‘gelateria’ the other day (fancy word for ‘ice-cream shop’) and noticed that they had some ‘artisanal’ panettone in the middle. ‘Ooh,’ I thought, ‘that’s just the thing to give to friends during this season of good will.’ I chose two and took them to the till to pay. Reader, £60 they wanted. £60! For what basically amounts to two large currant buns. Needless to say, I left empty-handed.

Teaching sex to tiny children? It’s abuse

I hope the four mothers who are suing the Welsh government over plans to force sex education on children as young as three win their case. Authorities in Wales want to make it compulsory for children – well, babies really – to be taught about ‘relationships, sex, gender, romantic and sexual attraction’ – in other words, topics that are completely age-inappropriate. Tell me, in what world is this not state-sponsored child abuse?

At the end of Keir Starmer’s slick interview in The Times, Fudge haircare was credited on the list of styling products. Given Starmer’s own approach to politics, I thought this entertainingly apposite.

I can understand artist Banksy’s fury at seeing his work purloined by Guess to sell clothes. But urging all shoplifters to descend on the brand’s Regent Street store makes him no better than them.

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