I think I have a knot in my stomach. In fact I felt sick on my way into work. Physically sick, writes Tracey O’Sullivan.

I thought it might have been because I was on the nursery run and I’m normally not a big fan of saying goodbye to my little boy; he can get fairly upset at drop-off.

But with the sun shining and free-flow play at nursery, where he can go in and out as he pleases, Beau loves nursery these days. He can’t wait to get there.

Then I wondered if I had caught the same bug my husband seems to have picked up. Luckily he works for himself from home because, despite the fact he was violently ill in the night, I wouldn’t envy him if he had to explain to a boss that he wasn’t going to be in work today.

“Yeah, and the dog ate your Vuvuzela.”

Then as Chris Evans played yet another uplifting anthem on BBC Radio Two this morning and I found myself belting out Wavin’ Flag by K’Naan and drumming on the steering wheel (the kind of performance that you think you can get away with in the car on your own until you catch the van driver next to you grinning sympathetically). Suddenly it dawned on me.

It’s the England match. I feel physically sick at the thought of today’s England match.

I looked in the back seat and realised I had, without much thought, put Beau in his England top this morning. He’s 18 months and he doesn’t care but somehow I now do.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I allowed myself to imagine the final, the victory tour, and I started to believe my ridiculous rendition of this year’s best footie song and Beau’s attire might just help to make it happen.

Is this how regular footie fans feel? Maybe I shouldn’t treat my husband’s insistence on wearing the same pants, being with the same people and not indulging in idle chit-chat during matches with such derision in future. Maybe I have actually caught the same bug he has.

Watching this World Cup has changed my life – well at least for today it has.

The beautiful game is no more attractive to me but the tears and tantrums, together with the heartbreak in the games so far, has made the whole spectacle more addictive.

And it has piled on the pressure I feel about today. I so want England to win and I can’t stand it. At least with the X-Factor I can put my favourite act’s number on speed dial and vote to my heart’s content. This is all so very different and the ache of sheer desperation for a natural high depends on Fabio’s squad to deliver. I can’t do anything about it but hope.

So while I promise to keep the faith I am not yet ingratiated enough to risk it all on a win. I am off to the Debenhams’ creche today to watch the game. There’s a sofa, flat screen and all you need in the menswear department.

Because if Wayne Rooney doesn’t turn up again I’m off to try and rediscover my original natural high – shopping.