That the sun will not rise tomorrow is no less intelligible a proposition, and implies no more contradiction, than the affirmation, that it will rise.

I felt lucky. Really lucky. Friday had fallen, and with it fell sunshine and, into my pocket, the weekly wage. I stopped outside the bookmaker's and, as my friend was about to depart from my company, I floated a kite, as one does on such glorious summer days: should I not just put my whole wage on some absolute certainty? I knew, and know, very little about either side. But sure, some thing are so simple, so certain, that they transcend the specifics. Something, then, like there being more than 0.5 goals in 90 minutes at 2/7. Football is football is football.

My friend, invoking his grandmother directly and David Hume indirectly, reminded me that nothing-in-this-life-is-certain. I kept most of my money in my pocket. I put a fiver on 2-1 Turkey, instead, and another fiver on Turkey to go through in extra-time, both bets at 14/1. Neither were realised, you'll be aware, the Turkish goalkeeper preferring, first, to show off his at once villainous and heroic mettle which so becomes his piratical countenance.

But, more importantly, ninety minutes finished without a goal, and I still have the bulk of my wages. As I said, the sun was out and I felt lucky.

Last night's bets: Arshavin to score first, at 10/1; Russia ahead at Half-Time, Holland at Full-Time, at 22/1. It's raining heavily.