Football’s back. My life once again has meaning and purpose. Direction. Motivation. Excitement. Black Lives Matter. Fans made of cardboard. Brilliant.

And watching Spurs last night play Manchester United, I realised what this cruel and heartless lockdown had been depriving me of for the last 3 months. What I’ve really been missing.

Frustration. Anger. More anger. Depression. Anxiety. The desire to murder. Angst. Full mental breakdown. The need for violence as a form of expression of despair. The understanding of torture as an aesthetic.

Oh, and beer and cake.

But it all came back within seconds, of Aurier giving the ball away for the 9th successive time in 3 minutes. Of Harry Kane using Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak to great effect, only to appear for fleeting seconds just to make you wish he hadn’t bothered.

I’m going to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and put it all down to ‘rusty’ feelings. Which is generous of me. But only because Arsenal played much worse on Wednesday than we did last night. Or, rather, uber-tosser and everyone’s favourite Brazilian liability, David Luiz, played much worse than any player has ever played since the world began. Which put a smile on many faces for the first time since March. When he last played almost as badly.

Been a busy week. Wedding Anniversary Monday, birthday Tuesday, Lila/Joey day on Thursday, very busy day at work Friday. During which I limped. A lot. I pulled something in my right hip last weekend at tennis. Which had me virtually hobbling from the station to work yesterday, yet barely bothered me playing tennis this morning. I mean: WTF?? It’s either shitty and painful, or its not. Depending on… the hour? The day? The time?

I’ll keep you posted. Must be the age.

But never mind, 2 metres is going to re-measured as 1 metre by Monday which is almost close enough to… to…

Missing lockdown already

Happy Hip Day

A xxxx