So a normal morning for me is nice. Mel brings me a cup of tea in bed as she leaves to go swimming (I know; spoilt rotten; which I reciprocate, in case you’re worried, on Saturdays when I go to me early martial arts and leave her lounging in bed like a total princess!!). And I sit there, princess Andy, perusing the paper all calm and lovely. Get up about 7.30, shower, shave, sh- whatever, and then its downstairs for a leisurely breakfast. Though how leisurely a banana can be I haven’t worked out yet. Drink more tea, write a blog, then on me bike and off to the tube. That’s ‘normal’. Easy. Nice.

This week we had ‘house guests’. Lila and her mummy. So the morning routine changed a little. Lila wakes up, quite late for a baby really, and calls out, not crying, not screaming, just nonsense sounds, similar to the ones Mel uses, but without the Yorkshire accent. And I run in and grab her, before her mother can get out of bed. And she greets me with a big smile (no-one’s ever that happy to see me, including me) and I grab her out of the cot. And we play. And read the papers together. Lila’s very interested in what’s happening in the world. And whether the plight of the Rohingya crisis in Myanmar is better to chew than the Spurs match report on the back page. And we jump about and giggle and stand up, fall over (and that’s just me) and its wonderful. Eventually, several hours later I’ve managed to take a shower while she feeds and then I take her back. ‘We’ eat our banana. I chew and swallow my bits, she’s more creative. Way more creative. So after mopping the floor we play more. Our favourite game is rolling over. Even if we don’t want to end up on our fronts, that’s where we roll. Because we can. I put her back and she rolls again. Don’t look for logic, she’s a woman. Sorry, what was I saying; she’s a BAYBEEE.

And she’s leaving me today. Life goes back to ‘normal’. But who wants that?

Normal for Spurs is winning home football matches. And in that respect life went back to ‘normal’ for them last night, beating Dortmund in the Champions League. Not gloating, not bragging, but Dortmund are a ‘proper’ team. German. Good. Classy. Not like the unheard-ofs that many other British teams were fortunate enough to play. The Qarabags and Basels and the finest that obscure European principalities with populations less than 4,546 people can muster. Dortmund. Who nearly won the competition not so many years ago under Jurgen Klopp. Whatever happened to him, I wonder?

Happy Thursday

A xxxx