What to do? And then there is Norwich bloody City. After the no-show at Old Trafford, I really felt so let down by the players that I would just not bother with the rest of the season. And was quite resigned to this, until I got an e mail from Peter, my new work colleague, that his son's ticket at the Spurs v Norwich was free and would I fancy going along?
I thought about it for ages, and said I would be interested, and by that time the offer was now firm, and the ticket would in fact be free, and he would take me up, if I could get to Broadstairs, and it turned out, would return me in his car to my front door.
An offer too good to refuse.
Apparently.
The day started off badly with the alarm failing to go off. So, I laid in bed waiting for it, only for it to not sound. What time does the alarm go off, I asked Jools?
Six.
Its twenty five past now I said.
Bugger.
So, she scrambled around to get ready, and I stayed out of the way, as running interference is one of my key skills, apparently. Meaning that by the time she left it was twenty past seven, and too late for phys before work.
I'll make it up tomorrow I said, not believing it myself.
I have breakfast whilst checking my inbox: one mail to deal with, and then on with more reviewing.
I cook a decent lunch for myself, as I wasn't sure what the plan was for when we got to that London. Some more work and then, time to go.
All I had to do was walk to the top of the down, along Station Road, down the other side, over the Deal road and on to the station.
With my back. I mean, I couldn't leave it behind, but it has been screaming lately.
And as soon as I turned onto Station Road to climb to the top, my back began to ache.
It got worse.
But once at the top, it would be OK for a while.
But then there is other problems; the fact the road has no pavement and steep banks on each side, so the pedestrian would have to hope he is seen in time and cars, trucks and tractors drive round us, not through us.
Wednesday was dull and grey, and I was wearing my warm coat, coloured black, as it is January and would be outside for several hours later. So I was hard to spot, and when I could I got out of the road when a car came.
I reached the Deal road safe and sound. This was the hard part, traffic going 50mph and a staggered junction, and I would have to find a gap to scamper across. After a couple of minutes, I do get across, and was now over halfway to the station. From there is was downhill for a bit, then a slight rise into the village.
I do make it, but I needed to sit on the low back to reset my back, which helped. But I am puffing well when I got to the station with ten minutes to spare. I resolve to go to the back bender for a stretching session as soon as I can.
But I was at the station, I buy ticket and go down through the subway to the other platform and wait outside to cool down and get my breath back.The train pulls in and I find an acceptable seat. I am choosy, I know. And settle down to enjoy the 35 minute run up through Deal, Sandwich, Ramsgate to Broadstairs, where, if things worked out, Pete would be waiting.
He was, but I was on one side of the station and he was on the other side. A quick phone lead to him driving round to collect me. I climb into his Audi, all 362 horsepowers growing from the back box, still sounding like a bucket of angry hornets. And that was at rest.
And all the way up to London there was the constant background roar of the exhaust and the popping of unignited fuel escaping. He put on a UK Subs album to help drown out the engine noise, and conversation.But we do talk, and drive north as darkness fell, and a mist rose, making driving difficult. But he presses on, staying in the fast lane up to Dartford, inching forward through the tunnel then onto the A13 into the East End.
Driving is never fun, but on a dark and misty night, driving into London in heavy traffic is anything but, but with him and his son, driving in is half as cheap as the train, so is a no brainer.
Once near to Tottenham, the traffic inches along, before turning away from the ground to park in a muslti-story car park some 20 minute brisk walk from the ground. Or a half hour fast walk for me.
It is flat, so my back is fine as long as keep the pace sensible. Pete is understanding, but pushes the envelope.Halfway to the ground, we stop at a kebab shop for a sober kebab. Skewered chicken, salad and rice all round.
And it was very good indeed, and half healthy.Out of the shop and to the ground, past the rows of shops, barbers, betting shops and "fun" pubs. And everywhere there is rubbish and trash piled up. I could not live in a city, and certainly not this city. Nice to visit, for short periods.
Spurs have a new ground that towers over the surrounding streets and looks like a UFO crashlanded, all lit up like a kid's birthday cake. It is impressive, and is state of (stadium) art. But is out of place.We walk round to the first checkpoint, up steps to the next checkpoint, then to the turnstiles and into the ground, where I find the whole area under the raked stands is one large money making scheme: bars, fast food joints and bars. Lots of bars.
And it was packed, people lined up a dozen deep to pay for quid for a pint of fizzy lager in a plastic glass. Instead we go up to our seats. Their seats are in "the wall", the largest end stand in all of Europe. We walk to the row half way up, then along to their seats, almost in the middle of the goal, with wonderful views of the pitch, which glowed under the floodlights.
Then began the pre-match build up: flashing lights, bright flashing videos on the four huge screens and bombastic commentary over the top.
All for Spurs v Norwich. Which was, let us not forget, a sell-out.The teams come out, we stand and applaud. All I had to do now was not to show I was a Norwich supporter in the middle of the avid Spurs section, and hoping I could hide that fact in the unlikely event Norwich actually scored.
It was a poor match, neither side could pass the ball. And both were shot shy, when the goal was in sight, both missed.There was little to choose between the teams, but just before half time, City lost possession, one pass and a cross, and Dele had a tap in after stealing between two defenders.
I want to hold my head in my hands, but instead stand up with the other 50,000 Spurs fans and clap.
In the second half, it is even stuff, Norwich play better, and just when it seems it would come to nothing, we get a penalty.
After waiting 5 minutes for VAR to rule on it, Pukki lined it up, ran and struck it into the corner, just out of Lloris' grasp.
I sat on my hands, and smiled.
Pete looked at me for a reaction.
I smiled some more.
Ten minutes later, a ball going nowhere near the goal was deflected and looped into the far corner of the Norwich goal, just out of Kruul's grasp.
Done and dusted.
Football is cruel.
We really did not deserve that. Honestly. And Spurs did not deserve to win. But they did win.
We leave our seats and are down in the concourse in a couple of minutes, go to the bar for a beer to wait while the crowds dispersed, but there were thousands around us doing the same thing.
At ten, we leave and walk to the car, the evening not cold at all, and me with an extra layer of clothes on, sweating for England.
We get to the car, pay the ticket and drive out along the North Circular to the A13, then to Dartford and back into Kent.
We have the Stranglers as our soundtrack, as Pete puts the horses to use. He shows me how well the car can use them as he accelerates the car to 120mph. I am thrown back into the seat, and am impressed.
The Stranglers play on.
He deposits be at the end of our street at five past midnight.
I say thanks, and he says thanks for the three points.
Back indoors I have a bottle of tripel and some crackers and cheese.
Again, apart from the result, the day was brilliant.
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