North London Derby Day. A day that usually strikes fear into every Tottenham fan. However, this time around it all felt a little different. We were the favourites. I didn't feel anywhere near the same degree of anticipation and excitement leading up to the game. Perhaps I am falling out of love with football a little with all the money and player power? Who knows. Our friend Mick came round to watch as well, on the basis that we have a bloody big telly now, and the match was enjoyed through the wonderful clarity of HD, which was slowly blurred by the clarity of the lager. As it turned out, the game was by no means a classic, and if I am being honest, I think Spurs were quite lucky to end up winning, but it was great to see them win, and fantastic to see that insipid little man who manages Arsenal behaving like a child and sulking. I read somewhere recently, that he had a face like "A haunted vulva". I'm not even sure what that means, but it just suits him. I think the excesses of the night before caught up in all of us, and a quiet night ensued.
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