I can’t remember the last time I had so much breathing space before a Saturday afternoon kick off. Here I am, it’s 11am and I’m up. I’ve just about finished the washing up. It wasn’t even much of a chore, unlike shopping for a rug on Friday night. I don’t think I’d wanted to do much but hearing the words “I can’t make it, I’m going rug shopping,” come out of my mouth when I was invited to a gig was a very strange thing indeed.
It’s time to stop. I’m exhausted.
I’m trying to tell myself this isn’t goodbye but I have a horrible feeling that it is. I can’t keep writing any more.
Well, I´ve got quite some catching up to do. I started this post on Thursday, still feeling the Robbie Keane blues and it´s frankly incredible how much water can pass under the bridge and so quickly too. I´m writing this from Spain. LB´s sister has a flat in Barcelona and today is the last day of our long weekend. Part of me has been aching to finish what I started before I left, to talk about everything I´ve been reading about our growing Spurs - and I have been reading - but part of me has owed it to myself to fill my belly with Rioja and chorizo, but I´m full now and it´s time to get ready. Nearly time for the season to begin. Nearly. But before we get there, let´s cast our minds back a little, shall we….
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