Well if the words to that football chant are correct, I’ve completely stopped singing. Not in the car. Shower. Kitchen whilst ‘creating!’. No-where. If you sing when yer winnin’, my voice has been silenced. My team have stopped winnin’. Even the other North London team has stopped winnin’. EVERYONE’S stopped winnin’ round our way. And I don’t like it. Ok, I can ‘cope’ with Arsenal’s almost-invincible run suddenly looking slightly less ‘invincible’ and a bit more ‘pleasant on the eye’, but that’s only because I have a thing for handsome Spaniards in total fucking meltdown. But this is about US, ffs. And our reversion to the old ways. The old paradigm. Flattering to deceive one week, all gone to shit the next. Beat Man City, lose to fucking Leicester. Losing half our team for the rest of the season in the process. Then off to Italy! Not for a holiday, but to work. The San Siro. We only lost 1 nil in Milan, and in many ways that’s encouraging as the second leg is at home and, depending on where we’re lying on our rapidly oscillating ‘sublime to shit’ scale, we have a chance.

Thank the Lord that the rugby has improved or, quite frankly, I don’t know what I’d do. Though appreciate, options are limited and you can’t run your life around random and meaningless games. Even though I do, I do, I do. We ‘thrashed’ Italy on Sunday. That should have served as a metaphor for Spurs but our total team commitment to self-destruction is far stronger than any mere symbolism. And as far as rugby is concerned ‘it’s only Italy’. Even though they’re officially ‘good’ and getting better. However, England looked simply awesome.

I keep getting emails from Spurs trying to encourage me get in touch with my feminine side… of football. Go watch a ‘gel’s match’. And its tempting. Due to the World Cup victory last year by them lionesses, we’re all a bit more girly in our soccer tastes. But a whole match? I catch snippets on the reports programs who now feel they have to include women’s stuff alongside the men’s, and it looks… different. And I should embrace that difference. But sadly keep failing. Can’t help thinking that if the women were a bit fitter (tragically, I mean that in the horrible, common, meaning of objectification, rather than the medico-muscular-stamina way), or a bit better at kickin’ and headin’, I’d be there in the flash of my fiver entry fee. I want to watch 22 women who look like Jennifer Lawrence and play like Lionel Messi. Can’t understand why that’s so difficult to achieve. And yes, I remain, an unreconstructed horrible person.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx