In my blog of 23rd May, long before the first ball was ever kicked in anger, I predicted that Spain would win the World Cup. If you were one of the estimated 700 million people that watched the final last night, you will know that, in common with Paul the German Psychic Octopus, my judgement was correct.

For more than 600 miilion of that audience who watched the match as neutral observers, it probably came as a huge disappointment, as one team appeared to spend more time kicking the other than they did kicking the ball. Towards the end it deteriorated into a very bad-tempered and largely unsporting event, putting the poor English referee in a very invidious position. For the sake of diplomacy I should probably not make more comment about the game itself, and allow you to make up your own mind about the quality (or otherwise) of the football.

Suffice to say that the final whistle sparked huge celebrations around the country (as you probably will have witnessed on TV). Even more fireworks and car horns than when they beat Germany to actually reach the final last week. At 7.30 this morning a few distant vuvuzelas could still be heard, as the last stragglers extricated themselves from the local bars….. I doubt if they made it to work today – and who can blame them!

Just as a small footnote, did you realise that I have something in common with Fernando Torres (apart from just my good looks) and the rest of the Spanish World Cup winning team? We share the same sports doctor. The team doctor in South Africa hails from Galicia and recently treated me for a shoulder injury (probably caused by too much golf over the years). It’s a small Mondiale!