I've been doing the pre-washing up. Not the washing up as such, but the stage before the washing up. If rinsing the suds off the bowl is like the last few steps up Kilimanjaro, then pre-washing up is like the initial trek through the fetid swamp at the bottom. Before you can even think about setting up base camp in the washing up bowl, there's the arduous journey through the rotting vegetation that may have been Friday's curry, and the worst of the pans have to be thrown into the back garden. I'm not discarding them completely, you understand. I'm putting them out in the hope that voles might take them and then they won't be my responsibility any more, or even that the worst of the cack might somehow osmose into the wind and the rain.

My kitchen has now improved to the point where it's actually possible to consider the washing up itself, but after all that I'm a little tired, and if it's going to be hard I shall just stop. It'll still be there tomorrow, and what's more it's pre-rinsed and neatly stacked, so it can't possibly go off again. I'm having a filling done in a bit, so I'm unlikely to be adding too much to the pile.

And now I'm back from the dentists, and my prediction about leaving the washing up until tomorrow turns out to be true. Instead, I'm going to talk about the football. Thanks to Logicel for this link (A European language, in Prospect magazine).

It's an interesting piece, arguing that because people's teams play in Europe, their fans are more likely to think of themselves as European, rather than just British. And it's certainly true that fans travel to games, where they pick up stuff like chants that wouldn't have been heard at Anfield or Old Trafford before the modern era. Also, the players and managers themselves come from so many different countries, and wearing a shirt with Drogba or Ronaldo on the back must change kids' sense of identity on some level.

I wouldn't ever want to underestimate the ability of football fans to be parochial, though. Every time a Welsh team comes to Ashton Gate, or for that matter any team from north of Birmingham, the chants start up. You dirty northern bastards, you'll hear, or Stand up, if you hate the Welsh. The fact that hardly any of Swansea or Cardiff's players are Welsh matters little.

And to judge by conversations with people who have been to the top teams with the European pedigree, the fans are no different. The anti-semitic taunts against Tottenham by Arsenal or Chelsea fans are one of the ugliest examples. It's been known for them to actually hiss in simulation of the gas chambers. Again, the mere fact that few if any of the players are Jewish cuts no ice.

Still, perhaps it's a mistake to focus on the visible few. We always hear about the fans who have (or cause) problems, but there must be many more who stay the weekend in Rome or Prague, see the sights, try the food, learn a few words, and so on. As I've said before, if you believe in pluralism you have to hope that it's contagious.