I suspected it would be a mistake to go shopping with Helen on Saturday. Her sense of timing is elastic on the best of occasions and with a 3pm kickoff, I knew it would be a tight squeeze.

I'm actually quite ambivalent about England matches except during the tournaments themselves. Along with most Arsenal fans I know, I love it when England do well, but give me the choice of a World Cup or the Champions League and it's the CL every time. So I'm not really as bothered about international qualifiers as I might be. It's probably also the reason why I'm supremely indifferent to all the xenophobic twaddle that's written in the media about the lack of Englishmen in the Arsenal first team. Who cares if we have eleven Martians in the side as long as they play the Wenger way?

But I was quite keen to watch the Estonia match because with England playing France in the rugby (more on that anon) I thought it would make a nice sporting Saturday to watch both games.

Of course, at five-to-three we're still in Debenhams (I'd warned Helen they had utter tat in that store but would she listen?) so I put my foot down and insist that we find a pub somewhere to watch the game. We found this dreary little place off Oxford Street and as we sat down to watch the match Helen proceeded to sigh loudly at increasingly frequent intervals. I wasn't quite sure whether this was in protest at being forced to watch the football or because all the men in the pub were as old as Steve McLaren and not as good looking.

You probably all saw the game, or the bits of it that were remotely interesting. I half expected Sven to appear weasel-like after the game, repeating ad-nauseam, "First half good, second half not-so-good." Here we had the best available players in England playing against a rubbish side and my overwhelming thought was that on current form our Arsenal side would rip them to shreds. England, I mean, not Estonia. Although one shudders to think what we'd do to them.

The England midfield was functional at best. When you're used to watching a side move the ball from back to front with speed and precision, every player comfortable receiving the ball in any position with at least a couple of options to lay it off first time or with one touch, the very laboured England midfield was a bit of a let-down.

They're all good players, and I think Barry is such an obvious choice to play in the middle (hindsight is a wonderful thing!) but it seemed to me that when England tried to play a quick midfield passing game, it didn't come naturally to any of them. This in contrast to the football we see week-in-week-out at the Emirates where the hallmark of our play is the constant and total control of the ball at speed - it comes naturally to our boys because they've all been playing this way since they were all in nappies. Which in some cases was a couple of years ago. England, on the other hand, were forcing everything a little bit too much which compounds each little mistake until possession is inevitably coughed up quite cheaply.

Having watched Cescalicious a lot this season, I'm starting to wonder slightly about Steven Gerrard. I recognise all his great qualities, of course. And I remember his performance in the amazing Champions League final, but I do worry slightly whether his passing skills are silky enough for McLaren to build the whole England midfield around him. I haven't really seen enough of Gerrard yet this season for the comparison to be a fair one, but watching someone with such a stellar international reputation (at least in this country) struggle to infuse any sense of rhythm or style into the midfield, it made me appreciate our little Spanish genius even more. Having said that though, it goes without saying that Gerrard is still miles better than the Chubby Chelsea One.

It was good to see a couple of Arsenal old boys on view at Wembley. Stepanovs was generally pretty rubbish when he played for us (although not as rubbish as his mullet-with-highlights haircut on Saturday. What was he thinking?) but I was pleased for him that he had a fairly decent world cup last time round.

Mart Poom, our erstwhile third-choice keeper had a bit of a mare for SWP's opening goal, being beaten embarrassingly at his near post. So it was a mixed afternoon for Arsenal goalkeepers with our current third-choice, Mad Jens, keeping a clean sheet at Croke Park to guarantee Germany's qualification.

At half time, I got a call from one of my spies. Apparently Big Ed (qv Thursday) was going to be at a friend's party that evening to watch the rugby semi-final and we're invited too. This is good news but puts me in a quandry. The rugby starts at 8pm, so that doesn't leave us much time after the game to get home, get ready and get to the party. Helen has no qualms and legs it straight away saying that she can't stand a minute more of this tedium. For someone who knows nothing about football, it was a very smart decision and I should have left with her.

Anyway, after a turgid second half, a mad scoot back home, the usual panic about what to wear (something that will suit both a slightly-hooray-rugby-houseparty in Fulham and then a much smarter nightclub)and for the second time in the day, I made it just in time for kick-off, this time against the French.