Were they also glumly ambling along somewhere not wanting to rejoin the real world and face the humiliation?
Glen's opening salvo jolted me back to reality and suggested the defeat had really taken the mush out of his peas.
Obviously newspaper decorum prohibits me printing his comments verbatim. But it went something along these lines.
"Golly. Our chaps were not very good. I am of the opinion the entire organisation has been found wanting and changes should be implemented."
Getting into his stride Glen suggested various gruesome punishments, many of which seem to have been used in Game of Thrones involving hot pokers, swords and general disembowelling.
Heavy stuff, I thought, wondering if his punishment suggestions could be the subject of an English referendum question, but it was his next comment which rocked me.
"I've had enough. I wash my hands of them."
To understand the depth of the humiliation those of us with a toe in the English camp feel you have to understand that football is like the air we breathe (though the air they breathe in some English places may of course be a lot, er, thicker than what we breathe here) and look back on our past record.
It started in 1950.
We were the best football team in the world. We knew that even if the rest of the world didn't. They could go play a couple of World Cups by themselves but in reality it meant nothing.
We'd play the winners.
We'd win.
Normal service would be resumed.
In 1950 we begrudgingly agreed to play with the rest of the school and we got beaten by the USA. Which hurt. We'd never really forgiven them going all independent and doing a Brexit on us back in 1770 whatever.
We failed miserably again in 1974 when Poland inflicted our next humiliation and resulted in a letter being sent home from primary school to my parents outlining concern over my menacing of other children with the question: "Are you from Poland?".
I should note at that stage in the early 70s none of my classmates were, in fact, from Poland. I may have had an entirely different result for my survey should I be asking the question today.
Anyway.
So between then and now we've endured numerous gut wrenching football losses.
It has become the norm to go a couple of years between World Cups and European championships to have our hopes built up only to be cruelly dashed . . . again.
It's like an addiction.
We know it's bad for us but we just want a taste. Maybe we'll find glory again and win something like 1966 when we had the world over to our place, fed them up on pork pies and pale ale till they couldn't play, and became world champions.
But then it happens. We fail. Miserably.
And the depression sets in again.
Usually it lasts till there's a new coach, a new team, new hope etc etc but I'm not so sure this time.
If Glen has had enough it must be bad. I mean this is a guy who, at football time, lives and breathes England.
"And you can tell 'em Pagey. Get stuck into 'em in your write up. Tell 'em Glen the Barber says he's had enough. I wash my hands of them," he says as we stand on the pavement.
And he means it. For a moment I think today will not be a good day to get a haircut from a distracted, football supporting barber.
To calm him down and change the subject I mention in my bag I have my application for New Zealand citizenship. He got his years ago.
Apparently immigration points for doing Scottish country dancing got him across the line. (Sorry mate, that's still the best laugh I've had. Just had to share it.)
So I'm going to go fill mine in and post it. Anything to take my mind off yet another English disaster. I reckon with NZ citizenship safely tucked in my pocket I'll be a shoe in for that Mastermind programme on telly.
My specialist subject would be English football failures 1950 to present day.
There would be heaps of material so there'll be plenty of questions to answer.
And I wouldn't pass at all.
Mind you, neither did our football team and look what happened to them.
