It is but a matter of hours since England crashed out of the World Cup in spectacularly humiliating fashion and already the flags have been ripped from the cars that file past our suburban house, the disappointment etched in the emotionless faces of the drivers who have just thrown their symbols of patriotic loyalty in to the nearest bin.
Once again the all too familiar feeling of being let down by a group of overpaid 'professionals' has swept over our household too and the post-match analysis has been thorough:
"Useless...absolutely useless!" is the rough, printable translation of our mostly unprintable post-match postmortem.
But, as the dust settles and as the reality of the fact that the England team simply weren't good enough (Algeria 0 - England 0, need we say more), I don't think we can really have anything to complain about. The thing that's really worrying me now, however, is the burden of disappointment that is likely to be passed on to my yet-to-be-born son or daughter.
Yes, in four years' time, I will be joined on the England-supporting sofa for the 2014 World Cup by a three-and-a-half year old, no doubt sporting the England shirt I will have bought him or her, face painted with the St George's cross and Vuvuzela (or Brazilian equivalent) in hand.
The excitement will have been building for months, we will have our wallcharts up on the wall, we will have been learning all the songs (or at least those without profanities) and we will have taught our little one to cheer on the names of his/her footballing heroes (yet to be decided of course after none of 2010's squad showed that they were good enough to even attend the next competition as spectators).
So what on earth is it going to be like in 2014 when Mrs B will have to console an inconsolable husband and toddler following a premature England exit?
Think on that Mr Capello as you're deciding your future! The nation's fetuses deserve more!