Bet on England

I was once told by one of Fleet Street's finest that we get the media we deserve in this country. We must all have done something pretty bloody awful in a previous life if that's the case. Many of their number remain worse than the plague. But not unlike the flea-borne illness, few of us have suffer as a result of them. Unless you work in Public Relations that is.

Having crawled out of the gutter myself I am to some extent immune. The stories still shock but the nausea has passed. After all once you've seen someone use a 'doctor on call' sign to routinely avoid traffic violations or a reporter carry a crutch around in a bid to win sympathy when on a doorstep, there are no depths to which morality can stoop. Especially when there's money involved.

Money for a reporter is called expenses. And expenses are to be abused. Take for instance a West Country scribe who told the accounts department that two kiddies meals he submitted on a Saturday night dinner receipt from a top London hotel were not in fact for his children but for two jockeys who were spilling the beans on a betting scam. (I jest not). Or the three tabloid stalwarts who were poured out of a pub after attending the funeral of an ex-colleague (who drank himself to death) and claimed their spending was as a result of the trauma.

But the best opportunity for debauchery has always been the 'foreign.' - the trip abroad on someone else's tab. Germany 2006 will be no exception. As soon as Becks and Co. touched down in the Fatherland, the press pack quickly followed, bringing as they did their unique brand of Britishness. I've already heard tell of a photographer up a tree near the hotel housing the players' wives and the hack who disguised himself as a porter, complete with uniform, to get closer to the action. Yet neither have anything on the telly producer who lead his team on a lager strewn rampage through Munich last night, damaging instruments owned by an Oompah band before being cautioned for asking a stripper if she could goosestep.

Most normal people would run a mile. The locals may already have done so if they have any sense. Days before any real ones turn up, the hooligans have already arrived folks. And as I sit with my bags packed awaiting that flight to Frankfurt I really can't wait..