And thus starts the most stressful time of the year. The first Arsenal versus Spurs match. I hate them. I’ve been to loads but they’re way too horrible. I’ve watched hundreds and its possibly worse on tv. No other match has this effect. So I’ve decided to play ostrich and bury my head in lots of other activities and pretend I’m not aware what’s going on about 4 miles away at the Emirates. I don’t want to know. So I’m writing this, oblivious to events on the pitch, la-la-laaaaa, la-laaaahhhh… (checks phone, still 0-0), laaaahhh…

I had to buy some food. We’ve been saving up since last Friday when the economy died and we need some things for ‘breaking the fast’. That’s what we do when Yom Kippur ends, at 7.15 on Wednesday. We eat. No, we EAT!. WE REALLY FUCKING EATTTTT!!!! As if we’ve never eaten before or will again. That’s the rules, I just obey them. And if I’m honest, although I’m very spiritual and believe all the bible and shit like that, I only fast because I simply love how eating feels afterwards. Because for a fat (metaphorically) Western, first world, entitled, spoiled rotten bastard like me, who grazes his way round from Starbucks to lunch to croissants, cookies, doughnuts, cakes to dinner, snacks, wine and fucking roses, not eating for 25 hours is a big deal.

(We conceded a goal, FUCK!!!, then scored an equaliser, YIPPEEEE!!!!, while I was out and became my own personal hate-figure, walking down the Finchley Road with my face buried in my phone).

It’s not like I’ll starve, for 25 hours. It’s not a physical thing. It’s psychological. I’m used to eating my way through the day with 14 cups of tea, each accompanied by… something, obviously. And then Yom Kippur? Ok, I still have a cup of tea or several but NOTHING with them!!! A massive sacrifice as befits the magnitude of the day.

(Arsenal just scored again; a stupid, stupid goal, AAAAGGGHHHHHH).

And the food of choice to do this fast breakage, for me, is and has always been, ‘the full Ashkenazi’. The food of our forefathers. Not the ones who cruised round Egypt and Babylon chased by Pharoahs with whips, but the ones from Poland chased round by Cossacks with swords and clubs. And I needed pickled herrings.

(Emerson Royal sent off, TOSSSSS-ERRRRR, Spurs down to 10 men)

Because all else is easy to buy but for herrings I needed to go today, lest we don’t have any and therefore, break the… errrr, covenant, contract, whatever, with the lord. Who hath forsaken me in my hour of need as Arsenal have now scored a fucking third goal. Nooooooooo…

So now its complete. We shall have fishy things, pickled things, wonderful things for the end of the fast. And although we will have atoned, it’ll take my team a good while longer for them to atone for today’s debacle.

Fast well, happy Saturday

A xxxx