I've never been to an England game and I'm not too fussed by the fact. Save for perhaps the Quarter Finals of Euro 96 onwards, I've never really felt bothered about being at a Wembley international. A friendly? No thanks.

As a kid, I can remember watching England as one of the few games shown live on TV. They were almost mystical. Now it's horns, annoying drummers and Spurs players everywhere, and they expect you to pay for such discomfort. Some do. I'd rather not, although it would save me having to listen to ITV trying to work out that Mexico had just pulled one back. "He's given it!" cried the commentator. Well, yes he has. It's what usually happens when the ball is 5ft over the line.

As the same TV company tried to entice me into joining the dream of a nation this summer, I wondered why I didn't really care all that much yet, and it's because of Arsenal.

I invest time, energy, emotions and money into following Arsenal, and have done for years. I go on the journey with them from August to May, up and down the country, over land and some sea, although not to Leicester. Or Hull. I feel part of the inevitable ups and downs. When they win I've earned the right to indulge, be joyous and gloat. When they lose I have earned the right to be a moody bastard best left alone for three hours at least.

I invest nothing into England, and have no justification to feel such highs and lows. When England lost to Portugal on penalties in 2004 I was gutted, though not for long. The sight of John Terry crying quickly eased my disappointment. It couldn't not.

Following The Arsenal breeds a natural dislike for all clubs and players in competition with us. We are not well represented in the squad and to suddenly turn around now and wish well of England's Spurs, Chelsea, Man Utd and Liverpool contingent does not come too easy. I'll do it once the proper stuff starts, a little bit, and of course part of me wants England to win the World Cup. I hope Gerrard, Lampard, Rooney and Ferdinand provide a spine to take us to glory. Honestly.

However, I can't deny there is also a small, tiny, evil part of me which would kind of enjoy their failure too.

This is somewhat due to the quality of person wearing the three lions shirt this summer. Classless. Ashley Cole. Y fronts. Having spent the last year hoping John Terry would be caught aiding his mother whilst "she was running 'round Tesco's with her dinner in her coat" before assisting his old man selling coke in club toilet somewhere in the West End, how can I now subside such a wish as a prison sentence would be detrimental to our World Cup hopes?

An England World Cup winning side would join the legends of 1966. Moore. Charlton. Hurst. Stiles. Banks. Rightly so, but, the thing is, I'm quite happy for John Terry to be forever known by all outside Stamford Bridge as that blubbering prick who slipped in Moscow. Ashley Cole. World Cup winner. It doesn't sound nice. Or right.

Manager. I do like Capello. For too long England's top players have been too big for their boots on international duty, with wags and Luis Vuitton handbags in place. Capello has cracked a whip and has them all running scared, with Crouch even told off for wearing slippers when he shouldn't have been. Discipline. There's no doubting who's boss, and thank f**k it isn't Gary Neville. Turn off your phones and put on your suit.

I do hope England win the World Cup this summer. I think. I'd just rather they did it without a couple of pricks who make it harder to hope for such an outcome.

I'd also rather Arsenal won the Carling Cup. It would be a far more personal triumph than having to avoid the throngs of topless morons swigging from a can in Trafalgar Square with Three Lions tattooed on their bare chest, celebrating an England World Cup victory. Unless Theo scores the winner. Then I might join them.

Priorities. Arsenal.

***For more of my Arsenal based ramblings, follow me via Twitter @TheArsenal_