I don’t ask for much. A warm bed, three squares a day (or four, or better still loads of snacks in between, and booze, maybe some mild drugs, a lot of chocolate…) and comfort and security. That’s all. I’m not demanding, I’m not high maintenance. I don’t ‘want it all and want it now’. I’m a contented soul.

So when I come away for a few measly days of Alpage I expect certain things to happen, other things to not happen. Its not unreasonable, I can’t be expected to watch the entire world for 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Others have to step up to the plate. Have to accept the responsibility for what happens. Have to do what we need them to do, what is expected of them.

Yet Spurs managed to lose at Norwich. I simply can’t understand how that could happen? Its almost impossible. Our away form has been impeccable and they are shit wherever the play. Even though I have great love and respect for Chrissie Hughton. And all I asked was for three points. That was all. I thought I’d left the team in good hands when I took off from Heathrow yesterday morning at the crack of something very early. But no. It didn’t happen. Not as I wanted it to. Not as The Lord himself ordained it to happen in the 5 Books of Moses. Instead it was all bollox and we lost.

Never mind, I’m skiing. And its terrible. A penance. As you can see from the pic, its awful here. There’s no concrete, no traffic jams, no exhaust emissions, no streets full of muggers. Just fucking mountains. Phah! And sunshine. Horrible. And the bluest of blue skies. What a load of rubbish.

Yet I’m wearing a helmet. For the first time in near lifetime’s career of terrible, uncontrolled skiing, I’ve succumbed to the pressure and put a lid on. I actually thought that merely bringing one away with me would be sufficient to appease the powers that be (my wife and daughters) but no, I’m actually wearing it. Its great if you need to head butt a Frenchman. And its for my own good. Whatever that may be.

So I hope you’re proud and relieved that I’m safe and secure from chronic misadventure of a white-out nature. Like Michael Schumaker was. Hmmmm…

Ok, I haven’t eaten anything since lunchtime and I haven’t drunk since the pint of Guinness in the pub just now. So I best rectify that awful situation at once.

Happy Monday.

A xxxx