There’s something sweet about being an ex-pat during the World Cup.

You seek out your own people, you get drunk, you cheer, you groan and ultimately, if England are playing, you cry like babies.

Brits In LA, the social networking group run by my mates Eileen Lee, Craig Young, James Ridley and Darren Darnborough, teamed up with the LA Museum of Contemporary Modern Art (LACMA) and BAFTA/LA to host a staunchly passionate event for the England vs US game on the rooftop of the Petersen Automotive Museum in Hollywood.

With a screen as high as a house, 500 people supporting both sides (and some Socceroos for good measure) gathered at 10am to tune into the first match of the tournament. Suddenly home didn’t seem quite so far away.

Face painting. Check. Flag waving. Check. English breakfast. Check. Goodies from the English shop Oh Fancy That! Check. Heinz Salad Cream firmly inside handbag. Check. Tequila and beer. Um…check.

UK band Purple Melon, slinky rock hipsters faced off with US band Crooked Cowboy & the Freshwater Indians before the show (this was the art of rivalry after all), while American tenor Gus Farwell blasted out a rousing chorus of Nessum Dorma at half time. At the end of his set the entire room were on their feet – it was like Susan Boyle at Britain’s Got Talent all over again.

My American boyfriend (facing a confusing, ‘do I call it football or soccer?‘ dilemma as he live tweeted – you should read them, they’re very funny) was unnecessarily worried about being in the minority because the room was pretty evenly divided between Americans and Brits. He found himself downing pints with an Irishman called Brian, who openly declared his support for America very early on (as did the Aussies next to us) and the two did that football man hug thing when the States scored their equaliser. Pah.

So there’s me getting steadily more drunk throughout the match, which meant that naturally I was getting more emotional. In between chanting, air punching and the occasional yell of  ‘Give it!’ or ‘Call yourself a goalie!’, I had a moment to think about where I was standing, who I was standing with and how I could never have imagined back in 2006, when I was watching the tournament from various pubs in North London, that my next location four years on would be Los Angeles.

I also realised that my secret life-long dream of becoming a football commentator would probably never come true. But that’s ok. You can’t have everything. And it’s that logic that gets me (and the nation) through watching England play football. I won’t harp on (I’m not a tabloid newspaper after all) but to say I was disappointed with the final score was an understatement.

However, for that day, on balance, a 1-1 draw was probably the best case scenario. No-one won, no-one lost. Relationships were saved and I left the Petersen slightly worse for wear but happy.

As we drove through Hollywood, I held my St George’s Cross flag out of the car window. Watching it undulate in the wind I realised that I never once did that when I lived in London.

But that’s what being an ex-pat does for you.

INGERLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND!