Kevin Page: Feeling samba spirit from my sofa

Attractive female football supporters distract the opposition by wearing the tiniest of yellow bikinis and dancing the samba all game long in the stands, writes Kevin Page. Photo / Thinkstock

By the time you read this I'll be in Brazil.

So there'll be no point ringing me to complain the word 'bach' was misspelt last week (sorry Murray; sorry Marj) or that actually I went golfing in Wellington with 16 mates and not 15 (sorry John).

As mortified as I am that the odd error has crept into my work in recent weeks - I blame the Americans for messing around with spell check - I can only say my mind has been on my four-yearly break away from the day-to-day world.

Especially as it's Brazil I'm off to. You know, Brazil. Where the nuts come from.

That's Brazil. The home of er, well I can't think of much other than football.

And nuts. And painful processes involving wax and the nether regions.

And maybe those attractive female football supporters whose sole aim in life is to distract the opposition by wearing the tiniest of yellow bikinis and dancing the samba all game long in the stands.

Not that I've taken much notice of that of course. Ahem.

Anyway.

This isn't the first time I've disappeared off the radar. Over the years I've been to places like South Africa, South Korea, Mexico ... you name it.

Ironically my break from the real world has always coincided with the Fifa World Cup. It's amazing they organise the event at the same time as I book my holiday.

It's even more amazing when you consider every time I go, the England national team decides to go too. Uncanny.

As a born-Londoner and therefore obviously devout follower of the round ball religion, this happy coincidence suits me down to the ground.

That England never actually win anything tends to grate a bit, especially as it's been nearly 50 years since we last ruled the world, so to speak.

But we are English and possessors of a stiff upper lip... and a quivering bottom one.

"The tournament is all the better for their efforts," we say nobly of our lads.

"And weren't those Argentinians and Germans [it's always them] just absolutely wonderful. The better team won on the day." Think Tui ad here.

Luckily, the total, gut-wrenching, absolute and shattering pain wears off after three years. Just in time for the next tournament.

Of course I'm not actually hopping on a plane and going to Brazil. But I'll be there in spirit.

Mrs P said I couldn't go. I have to mow the lawns and stack the dishwasher. I figured she'd probably notice if I sneaked off.

So it seems the closest I'll get to the beach in Rio is the sand presently being washed out from the cobbles in my driveway thanks to the rain.

But I'll be there in spirit. Particularly when England is playing. It'll be all raucous chants, flag waving and good natured abuse of the opposition from my old chair in front of the telly ... in my lounge.

I won't be answering the phone. Nor will I be responding to a knock at the door.

Emails will go unanswered and bills which are meant to be paid this month will reappear 30 days later with the word "overdue" stamped on them.

So you get the picture? For the next month I'll be immersed in all things World Cup.

And I have a plan to dissuade Mrs P, a former dancer, from doing the vacuuming while the games are on.

Basically it involves convincing her instead to show me how to do the Brazilian samba.

And just to make my World Cup experience all the more authentic I might even get her a yellow bikini too.

Kevin Page has been a journalist for 34 years. He hasn't made enough money to retire after writing about serious topics for years so he's giving humour a shot instead.