The text message from my brother came through sometime during the second half of the England v Wales match at Wembley on Tuesday night. I could have guessed the content before even reading it.

'Must be galling,' he wrote/taunted, 'to see so many recent ex-Villa players out there tonight: Barry, Downing, Young...'

Galling. Yes. Galling would be one way of putting it, I suppose. A fairly restrained way of putting it.

I hate watching England. I still do it, of course. But I hate it. And I hate myself for doing it. Some of the most unremarkable moments of my life involve watching England. Forget the heartbreaking losses on penalties, flubbed back passes or lobs from 40 yards. By and large, the England team has been an experience in mediocrity and tedium for as long as I’ve been following it.