You know what they say; get a life; or a granddaughter. I’ve chosen the latter. And I’m evangelical. Not about grandchildren in general, just mine. Because she’s special.

Born after an immaculate conception. Every bit as believable as ‘the other one’, I mean: come onnnnn. And the morning she was born, 3 wise men arrived. Me, the neo-natal doctor and Lars, the Polish cleaner. I mean: what are the chances? I brought me mate, Frank, who had some incense and we ordered a murgh masala take away. Uncanny.

Anyway, Lila had arrived, Spurs won. Lila watched her first football match on Wednesday, (when I say ‘watched’, I mean she was in the room, asleep, head buried in my shoulder), and we won again, nothing short of ‘the miracle of the Liberty Stadium’, and yesterday we played again. And by ‘we’, I mean me, Spurs, Lila. We.

This time we didn’t wait for the 88th minute to score the first goal. We were, quite frankly, imperious. Watford were semi-decent in the first half and were unlucky to find themselves 3-0 down by the end of that 45 minute spell. Of blinding brilliance, superlative attacking football and not one, not two but THREE top-drawer (whatever that means, but seems appropriate) goals.

To play that well and score scruffy goals or tap-ins is impressive. But to cap wonderful play with quite stunning strikes is even more betterer. Says it, just like that, in the ‘football pundit’s handbook’. Volume 3; return of the clichés.

Lila’s response to her third victory in 8 days was to look around as if the world was somehow all new to her, burp and feed for another hour.

That win put us within 4 points of Chelsea. For all the 3.5 hours until they beat Bournemouth. Even Liverpool managed to win, away at Stoke, but there ya go. It also put us 14 points ahead of the Arse, who play at Crystal Palace tomorrow. Palace, who beat Chelsea then got hammered by Southampton. All I can say is: COME ON YOU EAGLES.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx