Oh the misery, the sorrow, the sadness. Ignore the blue sky and the gorgeous, clear, warm sea in the background, they’re just a fucking illusion. Any fleeting feeling of residual well-being (ie before last night’s game) from Hertzliya will certainly be gone by the time we leave Luton Airport tonight. Air travel does that; it grinds you down.

But Spurs… last night… Monaco… Wembley!!!!

I saw none of it. Got a photo of Spurs Paul and Baroness Lib-Dem outside the stadium, then one of Dom and his blurry mate. It wasn’t the photo, the guy has an incredibly blurry face. Poor bastard.

And as far as the rest of the evening was concerned, those proved to be indeed the best bits. And quite frankly the photos were anything but pretty.

I was oblivious. Wonderfully, Abraxasy, baked cauliflowery, chicken-liver-tehina-ey, oblivious in Tel Aviv.

Then I found out. Leicester won. Man City won. Spurs didn’t. Our first Wembley match. 85,000 Spurs fans there. No Monaco fans came because the trip over would have affected their tax status in the UK. Gotta be careful. So many records broken. None of which I could give a toss about. Of course, if we’d won the game, that would have been different.

Anyway, I’m done here. Fed up. Enough brilliant food, fabulous people, endless sunshine all day every day, soft beaches, warm seas and happiness. Enough! I’m coming home.

Happy Thursday (though due to wifi issues at Ben Gurion airport, its now Friday. Phah!)

A xxxx