Perhaps this night was something of a victory after all!

Flagshagger boss Tommy Tuchel said: ‘If you hear just Wales fans for half an hour, it’s sad because the team deserved more support.

‘I would have wished for a bit more support in phases where it gets difficult. In the second half to get behind us, there was a bit too much support for Wales.’

Well we didn’t have much else to do Tommy, so a shirts-off singalongaTaffyganza was one of the few attractive options. Some of us came a long way. One butty flew in from Belgrade.

Next time we’re in shit in Wembley, we’ll try for a conga. A while since we’ve done that at a game.

An English pal I bumped into on the Tube afterwards said: ‘Seemed like you all had a good time.’

I dunno, did we?

On reflection, yes. But largely because of seeing old pals who have only recently stopped moaning about the Bobby Gould era (don’t get me started – might have to go back to therapist again!).

Which gave the game sort of merit after all, given quite a few of us had wondered why we had bothered.

Well the pre-match fireworks and flamethrower stuff was impressive.

Definitely the best bit. Perked me up no end. Preposterous, supremely bombastic, and over the top – but enjoyable.

Nice reds and deep blue colours, it was almost arty.

Twenty minutes into the game at 3-0 down, I was hoping for a repeat at half-time to banish the blues.

As us old-school farts who were stupid enough to go to away games 30 years ago now say: ‘It’s getting like the old days.’

That is, hope extinguished very early in an era before Gareth came along to Bale us out.

So we need to get used to it as perhaps Tommy will have to get used to restrained, hyper-critical half-backing from the Eng-er-land fans.

Achtung! Surely Herr Tuchel has to be referred to as ‘Tommy’ now, with all its World War 2connotations.

And what do the neighbours do now with their hilarious German bombers ditty, that elegant, eloquent requiem to Spitfire pilots of yore?

My suggestion: sing it in German, chaps. Just for Tommy. A homage for Tomage. The nation’s latest manifestation of its curiously ambivalent attitude towards a team everyone queues up to slag off once they haven’t won the latest tournament

A chant about downing German bombers, in German. That would be funny.

Rather bizarre that despite the 78,000 in attendance, an easy 3-0 win, a bloody brilliant pyrotechnic spectacular, golden goals, opponents playing for 20 mins without touching the ball, and prospects of at least a World Cup semi-final next year somebody felt short-changed.

In Wales we’ve got used to it. But Tommy was already in sync with the neighbours’ nitpickers, saying: ‘We didn’t get any energy back from the stands.’

Same old Germans, er, English. Always something – this time a sing-song – spoiling their day.

When the biggest compliment is a backhander from the opposition’s boss, then it’s clear the night was not entirely a waste.

The spirit of Winston is required!