Go back to bed for the day with the person of your choice and gendered imperative if lucky enough to summon one at short notice. The more deliberate among you will have planned well in advance for this eventuality, hoping that such methodical strategies will not ruin the spontaneous libidinal thrill. Lock all the doors and turn off the television and drown yourselves in the pleasures of the body. Good luck.
For those unable – or unwilling – to indulge in sexual activity in the afternoon (and on their own)...
Avoid all pubs for the day as they will be full of hapless throngs of males in the throes of regressing back to early childhood dressed in ugly sports clothes - Unkool and the Gang writ large and noisy.
Play loud music with the windows open to drown out any possible raucous cheering from neighbours and/or witless chanting -a satisfyingly and perversely eclectic mix – Martha and the Vandellas' early tracks, Last Exit at full apocalyptic throttle, Alvin Curran, Ornette Coleman, leavened with some death metal.
Invoke St Jude to intercede for football haters everywhere and send a plague of warthogs to invade the pitch.
Or – for the more pagan among you – create a circle in the usual manner according to tested doctrine and call up a cone of power over the stadium. Create whatever havoc you think appropriate – short of bloodletting – keep it surreally clean, chaps.
Crack out the vodka and orange juice several hours earlier than is medically or morally wise – a special occasion, after all.
Keep the television unplugged in case you inadvertantly hit the wrong channel.
Do not grit your teeth for too long as this can lead to unpleasant locking of the jaw.
Avoid any daily paper.
There is always sleep – although that will probably mean you wake up at seven pm or thereabouts and are awake all night – in which case go out for a late drink as all the wahoos will have collapsed by now. Avoid the toilets however, if possible...