Blog: Now I know why most football widows are women – not all of course, as a significant number of men are only too happy to give the World Cup a miss and an equal proportion of the fairer sex are big fans.

But I would hazard a guess that those men not following every move by Wayne Rooney are acting mainly through choice – for many women it is a lack of opportunity which turns them off the beautiful game.

Before I started this I think somebody could have – if not warned me exactly because I had seen the match schedule – but pointed out the commitment a little more starkly.

There are three games a day at this point. THREE. In total that’s 270 minutes of football and 45 minutes of half-time and then for good measure throw in the extra minutes added on.

Now factor in the kick-off times. I’m not doing too badly with the early afternoon clashes. As a newspaper it is on the screens at work so I can take an interest while trying to get some work done.

But the later afternoon and evening matches start just in time to clash with the nursery run, teatime, bathtime and bedtime for my 18-month-old son.

And let’s face it, even with the most domesticated dad (and I have one of those at home) most of the childcare duties fall to mummy and somehow even more so during the World Cup.

Of course Sky-plus is a wonderful invention. It has enhanced my Coronation Street viewing beyond measure.

But catching up on 30 minutes (an hour some nights) after Beau is snoozing soundly is just the tonic I need at the end of the day. But more than three hours’ worth? It’s impossible.

Show me any working mother who is not shattered and desperate to curl up under the duvet come 9.30pm.

But if I don’t try to keep up with the action at this stage I’m worried I’ll lose the plot before we leave the group stages.

Yesterday was a juggling act to test the limits of any work-life balance.

By the time I got to Italy versus Paraguay I decided to try and watch it in real time – otherwise I was never going to get to bed.

But while the rushed bedtime for Beau made me feel a little on edge I have started to see some of the benefits of this experiment.

While convinced he wouldn’t want me watching with him, Nathan is slowly coming round to the idea. As I arrived back downstairs flustered and a little annoyed for the Italy game I was greeted with a glass of champagne. Now bubbly on a Monday night is a cause for celebration in our house.

While England remains the Holy Grail of viewing – never to be interrupted – He Who Knows is starting to enjoy imparting his vast knowledge during the less important games.

We even shared what could have passed as a girly-inspired giggle about the lack of eye candy. This turned to something bordering on serious analysis. There was no Totti (and I now know all about the World Cup holders and the controversial decision to leave Francesco’s fancy footwork at home thanks to He Who Knows ), but, yes, there was no nice bit of male totti either.

I didn’t get to bed early, didn’t get much else done and had a lot of catching up to do this morning before work but dare I say it — I had fun last night. Even without any eye candy to watch.

By Tracey O’Sullivan