With everyone dressed up so scarily on Halloween Saturday, what else could I do but follow suit?
Except that my reason was to mark an entirely different, if comparably, disastrous series of events.
Yes, I was wearing my cherished Rugby Union ‘England, World Champions’ commemorative red, white and blue shirt.
On such a fateful, nay, distasteful occasion and in the absence of any sackcloth and ashes, what else could I put on?
The end of a proud sporting era for my beloved England in ignominious defeat and with none of the other home hopefuls in sight as New Zealand and Australia humiliated us all by contesting the 2015 rugby world cup final, I had no other choice.
Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to go that one step further, like the cricketers did all those years ago by tearing their stumps out of the ground and along with other sporting memorabilia burning up an ashes trophy to remind us of our shame whenever it would be contested in the future.
Instead the ‘guilty’ shirt hangs in my wardrobe, where it will remain for the rest of my life in the hope that it will make me think before shouting England’s chances to the global community along with the rest of my idiot fellow fans until after any future event.
Especially before the football world and European championships, for which we have qualified so easily in recent times. We don’t want to fail again as miserably as we did in soccer mad Brazil or our own much publicised rugby world cup, do we?
Remember 1966 and ail that. I do very well. But wake up Peter I tell myself. This is England you are talking about; the country which can only win anything if they are considered outright underdogs before the event, not, however apparently justified as red hot favourites!