The World Cup viewed from afar is more like ambient noise – a far cry from working at it | Jonathan Liew

I fell asleep at some point during the Netherlands v Japan game. It had been a hot and drowsy day by the shores of Lake Annecy, a square and heavy heat, where the sun and the driving and the food and the boxed wine gently squeeze all the life from your body, like air being pressed out of a juice carton. I remember Virgil van Dijk angling a header into the far corner, and when I came to it was 2-1, and everyone was heading to bed, drunk on tiredness, drunk on life, drunk on drink. Not all of my friends care for football in any case, and so the World Cup had become a kind of mood music, something to fill the silences in conversation. Through the long and meandering chat about home renovations and Andy Burnham, an indistinct French voice occasionally cut through from a different universe. Maeda. Gravenberch. The Low Countries tempted to attain the final for the first time since 2010. My French isn’t great. Someone prised open a bottle of Heineken. Bodies draped themselves over the couch, fingers scrolled through phones, the immaculate decadence of boredom. I did manage to stay awake for Belgium v Egypt , albeit remembering very little beyond Romelu Lukaku forcing an own goal and the sight of Mohamed Salah sauntering regally around the place, like a PE teacher desperately willing himself not to get involved. But I do remember getting a couple of beers out of the fridge at the second hydration break and challenging Ed to a game of chess, which I lost. Lukaku, of Naples. …