Do you remember where you were on June 30, 2002?

Since it's only a couple of days ago and was marked by men up and down the country drinking a lot and shouting a lot, while men thousands of miles away kicked a ball about, you probably do - but will you remember in years to come?

World Cup final day it may have been but it wasn't 1966, when husband, for one, remembers exactly where he was; sitting on the floor of his aunt's house in Liverpool, wearing his Liverpool kit (or strip or whatever it is) before the magic words "They think it's all over - It is now!" signalled it was time for him to get up and jump up and down on the sofa.

Even I know where I was on that particular day, as I happened to be having a good kick-about of my own, from within the cosy football-free world of my mother's womb.

But I doubt if 35 years down the line I'll be able to recall where I was on June 30, 2002.

For friend Emma, however, the day will be forever etched in her memory, as it was the day on which her third child (a boy with no name as yet, Ronaldo and Rivaldo - though favoured by her partner - are not realistic options) was born and her relationship with her partner began to deteriorate.

She woke up feeling fine and although the baby was officially due it didn't seem to be showing any signs of making an entrance.

So she got up, phoned her older children (who were staying with kind in-laws who knew her partner Rob was unlikely to participate in much childcare that day, as he had a big match to watch) and went out to buy Sunday papers and croissants.

She settled down to read them on sofa, while Rob settled himself on other sofa from where he was best able to shout helpful tactical advice to the Brazil team, his preferred choice of winner.

Emma even found herself being drawn into the game, taking several sharp intakes of breath at particularly tense moments, which Rob found intensely irritating.

"Stop pretending to have contractions and spoiling the game," he snapped when Germany almost scored.

"I wasn't," replied Emma, regarding the father of her imminent child with some distaste. "I was genuinely tense." She returned to the Sunday papers, making a point of turning the pages as frequently and noisily as possible.

A few minutes into the second half of the game, by which time Rob had practically fallen off the sofa for shouting and was getting extremely tense about the outcome, Emma took a particularly sharp intake of breath, which coincided with her first, particularly sharp, contraction.

Rob managed to ignore this but it was followed not long after by several more increasingly lengthy contractions and accompanying sharp intakes of breath which, quite frankly, as he was trying to manage the Brazilian national team single handed, in the World Cup final, he found increasingly annoying.

"For God's sake ... Stop doing that. It sounds like you're having contractions and I need to watch the game," he shouted and was only slightly taken aback when Emma shouted back that she was having contractions and what's more her waters had broken.

She was stopped in her shouts by another sharp intake of breath and, to cut a fairly swift labour even shorter, nameless baby boy was born half an hour later, delivered by Rob, who did what was required of him while at the same time managing to keep an eye on the television set.

Nameless boy's entry into the world was accompanied by a roar which could be heard all over the town as, at exactly the same time, Ronaldo scored.