Well, the day that ended with Manchester City winning the most coveted thing in proper (ie European) football; the ‘treble’, started not quite as well when 5am passed and the taxi coming to whisk us to Heathrow hadn’t shown up. They normally arrive ten minutes early and you either hear them outside or get the phone call from the driver just as you get out of the shower. Not this time. By 5.05 I’d called the office twice and left messages. By 5.08 the Uber contingency plan turned up and whisked us away. They called me at about 5.15 to apologise. I in turn was going to apologise for leaving such abusive profane messages but thought, ‘no, bollocks, fuck ‘em’, instead. Great flight, bumpy landing, all smooth and slick, got the rental car, whizzed up to Hertzliya in record time because on Saturdays only half the fucking lunatic Mad-Max impersonators who constitute the driving population here, are on the road. The rest are praying. Thanking God. Thank God.

We went for a walk, ate ice creams, enjoying the fact that however fast you eat, the sun can melt them quicker over here and it gets messy. Strolled along the beach, then the fatigue started to set in. So we showered, changed and went back to a beach bar for a bite. This beach bar, in fact. Because they do ‘beach bar’ here so fabulously. Even better than in London. We got into bed by 10.30 here, which was 8.30 ‘match time’. Fab. Mel was so exited she stuck on her Lone Ranger mask and fell asleep. I magnanimously turned off the commentary. Which was in Italian anyway. And… I made it to half time and then, gone.

The fact is, the match was one you’d describe as ‘technically wonderful’. Which is a footballing euphemism for ‘boring as fuck’. It had its moments, but Kevin de Bruyne going off injured was tragic. He’s been playing for months with a torn hamstring. How good is he going to be when fully fit then?

However, (apparently) they won the match. Rodri hit the winner. My fave City player. Elegant, majestic, gifted yet ‘ard as nails. And they got the monkey off their back by finally winning the Champions League and yet… left another primate, kind’a hanging there a bit longer. Because this final, however technical, was nothing like Man United’s one in 1999. When they scored two goals in the last 4 minutes of the game to win.

In fact, this ‘treble’ has had a feeling of complete inevitability since Arsenal withdrew from the league competition. When Man United won nothing was guaranteed. They had a fantastic team of guys who were playing beyond any levels they’d played before. City’s team were all bought because they live permanently ‘at that level’. But maybe that’s just the thoughts of old man missing the simplicity and honesty of the game in the past.

And yet it was so inevitable that the City owner, Sheikh Mansoor, actually turned up. The second time, in thirteen fucking years, that he has bothered to watch them live. Even though you can always get cheap flights from Abu Dhabi on EasyJet to Manchester if you want to, and it would only cost him an extra 22 quid for ‘speedy boarding’.

Ok, I really must go. I have work to do. Lying in the sun, paddling in the sea and eating wonderful food.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx