At White Hart Lane, in the upper east stand, which seats, I reckon, about 3000 people, there are two toilets for ladies. Not two rooms of toilets, not two areas where toilet may be partaken, just two stalls. You learn these things when you have daughters. The toilets for men ain’t exactly ‘beautiful’ in any way, but as men are born with the innate ability to piss against a wall, any wall, it just about works for the less-fair gender.

One can only assume that in 1899, when the Lane was built, gels didn’t do football. Or maybe gels didn’t take a piss back then, or only twice a day. Who knows? Or just two women went to football at any one time so they built them a loo each.

Thus The famous ‘Lane’ is being demolished. Tomorrow. Today is the last game at the old Lane ever and tomorrow the 7/8ths of the ground still standing go under the bulldozers. I can’t get too despondent over it, even though the nostalgia flowing through the papers this week has been rather lovely, because its not like we’re going very far. In fact we’re just turning round a bit in the same place. We can still enjoy the vast array of classy boutiques and upmarket eateries that Tottenham High Road has to offer, like… errr… like fish’n’chips either in an old newspaper OR in a styrofoam box, that’s pretty fancy. Like kebabs, with or without salmonella. You don’t get a choice, its just a random selection based on time of day and availability coupled with which day the chef last washed his hands. Eeeuuuuw.

But still, ‘old’ White Hart Lane, the place I first went to football and my first love. Standing for matches in the Shelf, winning the UEFA cup there, Glenn Hoddle’s magic, Jurgen Klinsman, Stevie Perryman, Dave McKay, Allan Mullery, Martin Chivers and of course, Bill Nicholson. Whose statue Arsene Wenger is not fit to polish.

And talking of nostalgia, Twin Peaks is coming back for a ‘new series’. Even though the old one, in 1991, never really finished. Nor did it really begin, nor have much of a middle. As with most things related to the wonderful David Lynch, Twin Peaks started in the 5th dimension, where space and time have separated, never to join again, and from there got progressively more confusing. To the point where you just give up and enjoy the ride. Which was fucking spectacular. Amazing cast, incredible story (I think?), fantastic music, dancing dwarves, log-ladies, brilliant apple pie and a succession of incredibly beautiful women. And possibly my favourite tv series ever. One of 17 in that category, maybe 19. Can’t wait for the new one.

So let’s make it a truly memorable last day at White Hart Lane this afternoon and worry about playing at Wembley later. Coupled with the general level of success and atmosphere created at new stadia. Hmmmm…

Happy last Sunday EVERRRRRRR

A xxxx