Comment from our Women's Features correspondent

Here we go, as someone once sang. Three weeks of one thing on TV, on the radio, in the newspapers. It's the football European Championship, and all the talk is of how Sven Goran Eriksson can control himself when the pressure's on. But enough about Ulrika, there are so many other burning questions. Will Swedish Sven find his diamond? Will Posh be there for her man Becks in the stands in case any passing floozy fancies a go at pulling him away? Will little Wayne Rooney be able to score before his mum calls him in for his tea?

And, of course, there's all the glamour of the top players from other countries, isn't there? There's the Italians, tempting the ladies with Cornettos while taking penalties. And all those Teutonic Germans trying to occupy the other country's penalty box, those Russians and Spaniards and even Latvians, wherever that is, all playing for what they want, which is of course loadsamoney. And it's all happening in little old Portugal, where the sangria will no doubt be swilled by our boys who wouldn't hurt a fly with their tattoos and songs.

Yes, it'll be fun and action all the way, if you're an overweight, girlfriendless man in a polyster shirt swigging cans of Tennents in an armchair surrounded by his similarly clad mates. For my own part, no amount of dishy Des, lovely Gary or the idea of watching football being presented by a woman, obviously only hired by ITV to get us girls to watch, can stop me kicking the so-called Beautiful Game into touch this year. And anyway, what about us? Where's our Corrie going to fit into all of this? No, let the drunken menfolk hog the TV and sing their songs about dirty Eye-ties during June, I and all the other henpecked women will be out enjoying the fresh air for once. Get excited about your Henrys, Figos and Owens, guys - we'll be showing footy the red card this summer.