London | I live in a forgotten cluster of parkland and cul-de-sacs near central London that is usually very quiet. But right now, 10 minutes’ walk from the nearest pub or main street, I can hear multitudes singing, whooping and bellowing, and car horns honking – unrestrained joy.

England have finally done it. After 55 years, the football team that has caused a nation near-ceaseless despair and disappointment, and created a gallows humour that almost defines a culture, has at last made the final of a major international tournament.