You know when you book ‘an event’ in December, or October, or possibly January, and its for ‘March ’25’, which is so far distant that you just check that you’re not going away and book it. What you… ok, what I don’t do is check the football schedules for that projected future-time. I don’t check the rugby. And I don’t check to see what the weather’s going to be like either. Because when you book that theatre visit, jazz gig, exhibition, its dark, cold, fucking freezing out and you can’t imagine a time when it won’t be.

Then March breezes in, all casual-like, and the weather’s gorgeous and there’s England playing Italy in the wonderful rugby, Spurs are at home to Bournemouth as Arsenal go to Manchester United and…

And you’re going to see a discussion on ‘social hate’ at Jewish Book Week. Indoors, when you want to be outdoors; and in Kings Cross when you want to be on your sofa. Or in the garden. But heh, its booked, what ya gonna do?

First thing is: forget the tube. Another 20 minutes each way of darkness and airlessness. Take the car. Roof down. Enjoy all the smog the borough of Islington can produce. Worry about parking when you get there. And I do. Worry about parking. But as it happens, I needn’t have. Worrying about the lungs possibly more relevant.

And the discussion was great and I hugged a lot of people and then we went and had a fab dinner in Coaldrops Yard, which is compulsory if you’re anywhere near Kings X, and then we came home.

And on the way I learned from Mel (of all people!!) that Spurs had come from behind to draw 2-2 with Bournemouth and Arsenal drew 1-1 at Man United. For context, Mel telling me the football scores is like The Pope telling you the best pole-dance venues in Rome. I hadn’t even checked the scores. Such is my current disillusionment with our once-beautiful game.

Our manager has slipped from being ‘the most original, inspirational, unique, free-thinking, free-reigning manager of ALL TIME!!!!’, to being a total liability who can’t re-organise a team within the limitations of injuries, or work out any kind of ‘plan B’ methodology which can stem the flow of defeats. And, as yesterday, near defeats. Which leaves him in that horrible (for us all) situation of ‘the next game could be his last’. At least he’ll get paid off the remainder of his contract; we’ll get nothing but humiliation from Arsenal fans adding another ‘1’ to our rather excessive managerial tally.

Arsenal have their own problems, in the league at least. And yet ‘if’ (phah, right) they don’t win the league it will be because Bruno Fernandes stole a yard taking a free kick. Arteta told me.

Happy Monday

A xxxx