We’re having a heatwave in London. Almost 32 hours without rain. Yesterday the temperature rose to a whopping 30 degrees and even at midnight last night it was still 26 degrees of gorgeous humidity and sticky sweatiness. Lovely. We don’t get too much continuous sunshine here, you really need to go to the third world for proper weather. When you see pictures of global starvation and boatloads of migrants and desperate souls, the sun’s always shining nicely in the background. I suppose you can’t have it all.

Or, in Spurs case, you can’t really have anything.

Well, one point, but that’s not much. Not enough. Not what you really deserve. And its not about what you deserve on merit of the play, more what you deserve on moral grounds. Spurs deserve to be top of the league. They deserve to be great. They deserve to be brushing aside all who come before them. It would be the right thing to happen. But the bastards in football are insistent that you actually have to win games before they give you the points. Its not fair, but its the way it is.

So we went to Leicester. Well, they did. I stayed at home to wait for my new tv which didn’t (fucking) arrive due to courier meltdown. Never mind. Black’n’white’s good enough for the time being and 3 channels is more than enough.

We played badly, we held possession but did fuck all with it. We gave the ball away, missed chances and looked sadly in need of more players. About 11 would do the trick. Well, 10, I’m very happy with our goalie. Then we scored! Brilliant. 81 minutes. Too late for a Leicester come-back? Apparently not. Equaliser in the 82nd minute. Bastard foxes.

Lucky I’m a Bournemouth fan. (As of about 5 o’clock yesterday). ‘We’ won at Upton Park. ‘Our’ first win in the premiership, everrrrrrrr. And what a game. Ok, bit shambolic all round, nowhere more so than in West Ham’s defence, but 4-3 is a great scoreline. It says ‘chaos’. It says ‘panic and pandemonium’. It says ‘West Ham are being punished for conning the council and the government into sponsoring their lofty Olympic Stadium aspirations when they haven’t got a pot to piss in’. Scorelines can speak volumes.

Time for Daniel Levy to get his chequebook out, I feel. One week to go. Let’s go panic-buying.

Same old same old…

Happy Sunday

A xxxx