I miss the ocean; I miss Fenway.

He doesn’t care if my trainers get wet because we’re at the seaside and it doesn’t matter at the seaside, nothing matters at the seaside.

It’s one o’clock and we’re having a pre-match pint. It’s been a hard week at the warehouse and the lager gives me a kick-start.

We look at a couple of lads as they walk into the pub, Jim Barnes from Slough and someone I don’t recognise. A tall bloke with a silver earring who looks knackered with a bruised right eye and cuts along his knuckles. Must’ve had a good Friday night.

Little hooligans showing off is okay when they do it away from us, but we don’t need that kind of behaviour. You have to have standards. Would have done the same when I was their age, but I’m not. Now is now. There’s no room for nostalgia.

The rush is there and my body tingles. Sounds funny but it’s true. It’s better than shafting a bird. Better than speeding. Mark’s head is a mess but the bleeding has stopped. My knuckles are bruised and Rod’s eyes have gone a bit mental looking. We join the crush trying to get into the ground and we can hear the constant chant of CHELSEA. This is what life’s all about. Tottenham away. Love it.

You’ve got to take your chances in life, don’t ignore the opportunities when the crop up as you don’t get that many, every little helps, the small victories are important because that’s your lot.

I had the traditional print view of TV journalists: Those are pretty people who get paid a lot of money and don't do any work. It turned out I was wrong.

The retail environment remains subdued and pressure on costs continues.

It was kind of like last year. The kids stepped up big against two teams that had beaten us in the regular season.