Well-known broadcaster and Albion fan Peter Brackley writes exclusively for The Argus....

You have to be very careful nowadays what you write for The Argus as you can never be sure who the editor is. Last week former BBC disc jockey Mike Read guested in the hot-seat, best selling author Peter James and other celebrities have had a go and for all I know Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un subbed my column for today during comfort breaks at the Singapore summit.

Nevertheless, at the risk of upsetting whoever’s calling the shots, I’m sticking my neck out to predict England will actually do quite well at the World Cup.

(editor’s note from Kim Jong Un - “but not as well as North Korea.”

Peter – you’re not in the finals, it’s SOUTH Korea.

Kim - “not according to Pyongyang Radio it isn’t - indeed, they make us favourites to win!”)

I must confess after the debacle in Brazil I would have feared further embarrassment this time had England been thrust into a Group of Death with West Guernsey, the Chagos Islands and Costa Coffee - or even worse, the WHOLE of Guernsey. (I’m wondering, too, by the way, if England’s one-day cricketers should follow the Ryder Cup path now and combine with the rest of Europe before facing Scotland again?).

But, no, we live in hope for Gareth Southgate’s emerging team. Inexperienced, but England have flair, buoyancy and talent, with Harry Kane and Marcus Rashford a definite goal threat, and pacey Raheem Sterling hopefully able to keep the ball if not the time.

I was in Turin’s old Stadio Delle Alpi commentating alongside former captain Gerry Francis when England last graced the semis in 1990 (from a position so high up, we could have leaned out and caught Chris Waddle’s missed penalty against West Germany before it came back down again), and while I will be amazed if we better Bobby Robson’s team to make the final, I expect England to reach the quarters.

The winners? It’s hard to see past Germany, Brazil or Spain – the Germans must have some squad if Manchester City sensation Leroy Sane can’t get in – but the likes of Belgium and France have outstanding individuals, and if Lionel Messi in perhaps his final World Cup can inspire team-mates as Diego Maradona did so spectacularly in ‘86, don’t rule out Argentina.

(editor’s tweet from Trump - “or, indeed, the USA, I know we didn’t qualify, but I’m planning a late trade-off with Iran who can play in the Superbowl instead. Now show me tomorrow’s layout for the Argus again, I think I spotted a page I’m not mentioned on!”)

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Watching the farcical return of the gifted but decidedly flaky Tyson Fury – unbelievably chatting to the crowd while playing pantomime pat-a-cake with his Albanian patsy – reminded me of a tale I often told on the after-dinner circuit years ago.

“My career’s going nowhere,” moaned a disgruntled boxer. “I want to fight top names around at the moment - starting with Sunny Lisbon.”

“Sonny LISTON,” scoffed his manager, “retired in the Sixties!”

“Ricky Marciano then.”

“ROCKY Marciano was even earlier.”

“Sugar Puff Lenny?”

“It’s Sugar Ray Leonard, and he’s a different weight to you.”

“Well, what about this Joe Bugner then? He gets a lot of publicity, good box office draw – you fix me a fight with Joe Bugner.”

“But you ARE Joe Bugner!”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to arrange then, should it? And I want the same money he gets.”

PETER BRACKLEY