It is one of the eternal truths of going to a football World Cup, that wherever you are on the globe, whenever you encounter a municipal fountain, sparkling and flowing in a town centre, there will be a Scottish supporter in a kilt splashing around in it. Fancy dress is a vital part of following your national team through the greatest sporting event on Earth, and the Scots have a head start: their boys are kitted out in silly costume 24 hours a day for the entire duration of the tournament. Or at least until the Scottish team is eliminated, which is invariably a lot sooner.
But the Scots are not alone in dressing up for the occasion. Colombia seem unlikely to make it to Japan and Korea, which will deprive the locals of one of the great sights of any World Cup: the birdman. Dressed in a magnificent costume of feathers, the birdman hangs, with wings outspread from the upper reaches of any stadium in which the South Americans are playing. He is, he says, a symbol of his country, a national mascot. It is perhaps not the first symbol of the country that springs to most minds, but he is certainly a lot more colourful than anyone dressed up as a line of cocaine.
In truth, stripped of his plumage, beak and 10m wingspan, the Colombian bird is a portly middle-aged fellow of no great physical presence. But once in his costume, he becomes a central part of the carnival, the pageant, the fun. And that is what anyone turning up to a World Cup will find: it is a non-stop fiesta, with the football often just an excuse to party.
The Dutch attend entirely in orange: skirts, pigtails, clogs - and that's just the men. The Norwegians, Swedes and Danes all arrive done up as Vikings, as if anxious to lay claim for hundreds of years of exporting rape and pillage. Meanwhile, the Brazilians and Africans bring along more timpani than the London Philharmonic. And, outside the grounds, everyone merges and melds for hours before kick off, drinking and partying, dancing and sunbathing.
Unless, of course, England are playing. Then the town hosting the match will go into a state of siege, as if an invading army is about to arrive. The relaxed party atmosphere encountered outside grounds where anyone else is playing will be replaced by one of tension, fear and a cancellation of all police leave. Even the Iran/US game at France 98 saw 20 years of enmity between the two countries culminate in non-stop goodwill and jollity. Yet whoever England play, war is declared, with the local police behaving as if on piecework, paid by the number of heads they can crack.
So aware are English supporters that they are missing out on the biggest party around that at most games involving other countries the biggest contingent of neutrals will be English, being almost unnecessarily polite, sober and well behaved.
At the match between Colombia and Tunisia during France 98, I encountered more English people than Tunisians. They were everywhere, soaking up the atmosphere, having fun, seeing what they were missing. Sitting in front of me was an entire stag party, 15 of them in all, who decided to celebrate their pal's impending marriage by turning out as colourfully as the Colombians. They did this not by adding clothes, but by removing them and sitting in the violent south of France sun, without shirts, turning as one a magnificent tone of pastel pink.
Intriguingly, England were playing the same day, several hundred miles away. But the staggers had not even attempted to buy tickets for that game. They told me they had come to the World Cup to enjoy themselves, so had obviously given England a miss. They were seeing seven matches in six days, they said. And doing a bit of drinking in between.
For many fans, however, the World Cup offers an opportunity to explore a country that goes beyond sim ply seeking out the ubiquitous Irish pub and getting bladdered. In Italy in 1990, I saw dozens of fans in replica shirts taking in the Uffizi gallery in Florence and visiting the cathedral in Turin that houses the shroud. In the US in 94, it was barely possible to make out the Statue of Liberty such were the weight of numbers of Irish supporters crawling all over it. And in France in 98, long after their team had gone home early, there were Scotsman up the Eiffel Tower and claiming to anyone who would listen that Richard Rogers, who designed the Pompidou Centre was in fact a Jock.
It seems they didn't want to go home, because wherever they went, there were supporters of other national teams keen to swap stories, swap memorabilia and, as often as not, simply to embrace them. It may be hard to believe it for the England fan used to being herded about like a criminal on the assumption of collective guilt, but that is what going to a World Cup is all about: immersing yourself for a couple of weeks in the international fellowship of football support.
How to watch the world cup
1 Make plans to go even if your favourite country does not qualify. Often neutrals have the most fun.
2 Sort out your match tickets in advance. There is nothing more debilitating than trying to negotiate with the local black market.
3 Embrace fancy dress: no one feels threatened by a visitor in costume, in fact your hosts will appreciate your efforts.
4 Take time to absorb the sights: there is a lot more to a culture than its football grounds.
5 Book your accommodation in advance: the joys of sleeping on a park bench pale after one night.
6 Take along a musical instrument. Even a kazoo can add to the atmosphere.
7 Try to attend at least one game involving Brazil.
8 Give England the widest possible berth.
9 There is no need to go for the entire tournament. A short visit, taking in several games in the early stages, can make the last few rounds come alive back home on television.
10 Try to be philosophical: the country you are supporting will not win the thing. Unless you are French.
