You either believe in this team – or you don’t.

You either believe Arsene is still a great manager – or you don’t.

I do, but I have to admit  my faith has been tested of late.

In the context of what has gone before, yesterdays performance  was truly exceptional. So lets take a moment to set the scene.

Last week we were embarrassed and humiliated by Chelsea. Humbled by the least humble manager on the planet, and on the occasion of Arsene’s 1000th game,of all days.

On Tuesday we played with the handbrake on and a parachute open and dragging us back. To top it all we scored the most unfortunate own goal in injury time that saw us drop another two points.

Having failed to buy a really world class striker in the last three windows( for whatever reason ) our good striker looks to be running on empty with lead boots having just finished 40 Capstan full strength before kick off.

The depth of our midfield has been tested with long term injuries to 3 or 4 definite starters, including our most dynamic  ( The Prince of Wales)  and our world class and record transfer  play-maker ( Ozil ). The most pacey of pacey players is out for the season  and the best central defender in the league has joined them on the treatment table.

Mikel (aged 32) and Tomas (aged 33) who should be being saved for special occasions, are being asked to play every game. And to be fair,in Mikel’s case at least, it is telling.

So, after 19 minutes we go a goal down against the most expensively assembled team in history, having been comprehensively out played until then, and for the remained of the first half.

Be honest, were you fearing the worst ? I was.

What happened next was everything and more that we could have asked for.

Mental strength, resilience, fortitude and togetherness.

To turn the game around under those circumstances was almost unbelievable.

Make no mistake, we were by far the better team in the second period, and in the end unlucky not to take all 3 points. It was a terrific effort and our lads did themselves and us proud.

I love these players but also accept that there are some obvious weaknesses in the team. However, when they show character and skill like that, I can forgive them anything.

I am proud of every one of them. And proud of the Gooners that have stuck by them in the most difficult of times.

I was asked a simple and fair question on twitter some time ago by Andy Wood ‏@yorkshiregunner .

“Tell me George, will you still support Arsenal when Arsene leaves?”

(As people continue to misquote my reply here again  is the blog I wrote about it)

Now I understand that it was a snide question, a loaded question, designed to suggest that Arsene was more important to me than the club. I knew that before I answered with this:

 Not for 100% sure.  It would be hard to think I won’t.  But I could stop. It’s like a marriage for me, not a family. If you follow?”

This of course was immediately interpreted to mean: “I will stop supporting if Arsene leaves.”  Just as I had anticipated!

People then started screaming that one’s support for the club should be unconditional.  “ARSENAL TILL I DIE!!”

And all the other soundbites people use.

Then they saw fit to state the obvious with gems like:

 “No one is bigger than the club.” 

No shit Sherlock, I had missed that.

As the Twitter exchange continued, I tried to explain that I could not guarantee always supporting the club, because if it changed into something different to that I was in love with, it would no longer be my club.

This concept seemed beyond the comprehension of a few, and some claimed that NOTHING could make them withdraw their support.  Ever.

There’s an irony here, in case you hadn’t already spotted it …

So I came up with the most outrageous scenario I could think of, just to test their ‘position’ and asked if they would still support the club if the following occurred:

The club is bought by the English Defence League and all our players are sold, only white heterosexuals are allowed to play for the club. Do you still support?

Almost every right thinking person would say:

“No, it’s a stupid scenario, but no.”

My point being that ALL support is conditional. It’s just the conditions that are required to be met are different, and they vary from person to person.

What some people fail to understand is that “the club” means different things to different people.

My definition of “the club” includes the playing style, its class, history and integrity.  The manager, board and players are a large part of that. The whole ethos of the club is what I regard “the club” to be.

Someone told me that “the club” to him was the badge, and that is what he supported. He didn’t mention whether the badge in question was cotton or man-made, so I reserved my judgement on him.

But, nonetheless, for him, the definition of the club was different.

My main point in all of this is that regardless of your personal definition of what the club – or anything you have fallen in love with – is, if that thing you fell in love with, changes to the degree where they or it becomes something or someone you would never have originally fallen for, then it is ENTIRELY possible to fall back out of love.

And this patently includes, even, one’s own chosen football club.

Now, if you are happy to support a club, fuelled by petro-dollars, managed by a hoof-ball specialist or filled with players like Barton, Suarez, Terry, Savage, Cole and Rooney – then great. But I would find it hard to continue that support, ultimately, even if that club was my beloved Arsenal.

It would be a gradual deterioration of the relationship between me and the club, but given the perfect (and frankly unlikely) storm, I COULD stop supporting.

There has been a lot of  “I want my Arsenal back” going around in recent times.

Well, I personally want to keep THIS one.

These people that claim to ‘want their Arsenal back’ are effectively saying this current Arsenal is not “their” club.

Effectively, they’ve withdrawn their support already.

This is evidenced by their relentless attacks on the club and it’s staff – on Twitter, in blogs, on radio phone-ins etc.  Those individuals who have given up their season ticket have clearly withdrawn their support.  They are, as a result, no longer proper pucka Gooners are they?

The anger evident in their remarks is quite possibly driven by the pain they are feeling from losing their love for the club.

Well, maybe they ARE still Gooners.But they have simply come to a point where their support has been withdrawn. Do they watch on TV instead? Or has that been given up too?  Have they stopped reading the papers? Do they no longer talk about Arsenal?

If they are still Gooners, it’s clear that bit-by-bit they are losing – or have lost – their love for the club as the conditions that led them to support in the first place are no longer seemingly evident.

For THEM, at least.

Now people can say that they are better fans than me because they have supported longer, spent more money, attended more games, live in the area of the ground or because nothing could stop them supporting.  I won’t argue.

I certainly won’t care what they think either.Because they can claim all day long that they are the ‘real’ supporters of the club. But the reality, actually, is that they are drifting away from the club with every attack they launch.

***

Finally someone said:

“Morals in football are bollocks.”

To which I replied:

“Morals are only ever bollocks to those without them.”

I however ,am the last person to judge people on their morals.That does not mean they are any less important.

I can’t bring myself to talk about last night. It was horribly poor and unlucky.

Our season has stuttered. It looks like the title challenge is over. In fact after last night fourth is looking like it might be close.

Someone or something must be to blame. I mean people are disappointed, hurt, angry, they need something to vent at.  Someone has brought this about and they need to pay for the misery caused.

So who or what is to blame? Let’s look at some of the runners and riders.

Arsene Wenger – Lets start with him shall we? Has he let us down? Picking the wrong teams? Setting the wrong tactics? Not buying players? Buying the wrong players? Not being pragmatic enough? Plenty there to go at for starters.

The Players – Have they no spirit? Are they too small?  Too young? To slow? Too alike? Are they just a bunch of losers?

Injuries – Have we been unlucky, again? Do we not understand what we are doing? Bad training? Weak players?

The Board – Have they let us down by wanting to keep a huge bank balance? Have they lied to us? Do they even care about us fans?

Officials – have they got it in for us?

The Media – Are they out to get us?

Depending on your preconceived opinions, you are likely to  apportion blame in varying degrees to one or several of these culprits.

Personally my pick would be injuries.

My big new mate Peter over at Le Grove would pick Arsene.

Dim Tim?  The board no doubt.

Here though is a question. Why do we have to blame anyone?

Why can’t we just be thankful that for three-quarters of the season we have been right in the mix, had a run in the CL and still have a great shot at the FA cup?

The team should be better next year simply because of the incremental improvement of our youngsters.

We will have more money and revenues to spend than ever before. We will be shopping from the top shelf.

We are on the up.

This team has given us hope all season. That’s a huge step in the right direction.

Really, we have little to complain about.

We should be rejoicing, not moaning.

If you want a difficult job, start a blog. call it Positively Arsenal, then sit back and wait to be beaten 6 0 by the team that is everything you detest in the game, and then do a write up.

I feel like taking to my bed, pulling the sheets over my head and whimpering until August.

Six nil, that’s SIX NIL, Jesus H Christ.

There can be no excuses for losing six nil. None. Yes we had half the first team missing, but so what? Every player fielded is a better player than most teams in the league can boast, and I don’t see them losing 6 3 ,5 1 and six bastard nil.

There is something wrong. There is!

But what?

How can the same eleven that defended so well at Spurs play like that? It almost beggars belief.

Its easy to say we should have started Flamini in tandem with Arteta and sat back a little more, with the fullbacks holding their positions, but to do that you need pace in the side to break away and score. Where is that coming from?

So we play a high line and get ripped to pieces. Why?

Well from what I can recall it was because we lost possession in midfield . AOC and Santi were most culpable, but even Tomas joined in when we conceded for what seemed like the eighteenth time.

It would be fair to ask why a 20 year old was asked to play in a game this big, in the centre of midfield, when he is still learning the game. Then again, were you asking that question before the game? If so what were the alternatives?

Mikel looks too slow to be playing the holding role if we are playing a high line, and Aaron is not there to compensate, but again, what were the alternatives?

Are the lack of alternatives down to injuries, or is it Arsene’s fault for not buying? Or both?

You can’t blame the manager for the players being nothing short of woeful.

However I can’t excuse Arsene either. He has to be held responsible to some degree, the buck stop there, as they say.

Forget that the wrong player was sent off , for a non-red card offence , the damage was done. At least the chance of getting anything from the game had already gone.

That display was totally unacceptable and everyone concerned should be admonished.

Hang on though, let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater.

Let’s not forget what has been good until this point. Let’s remember what wonderful football this team and these players have given us.

We must think things could and would be very different with Theo, Jack, Aaron and Ozil in the side.

All is not lost. Top 4 and the FA cup is still a distinct possibility.

As we keep getting told, there is money to spend in the summer.

All we can do is carry on supporting, there is no alternative.

A very hard game today, but win, lose or draw, this is our club, team and manager. All we have to do is support them. It really is that simple.

Now here are some words from Zim Paul on The Boss ”

Interesting match coming up. Should Arsenal be nervous with so many out for “the big one’? No, not at all. We’re on a decent run importantly against top opposition, the momentum so far good, Flamini/Arteta axis looks sorted and quietly effective, Ox and Tomas are in tremendous attacking form, Lukas and Gnabs in contention too, the defense is as solid as can be, the keeper too, and Santi is a match winner. Chelsea are just slightly weakened with Ramirez out, the key player for them in an Arsenal type match and a thorn in our side; the other Brazil fella not so much, useful, but we could contain him anyway. Eto’o, now there’s one we need to keep an eye on. He can’t sustain it anymore, but still has that eye for goal from any angle, and will shoot.

Many decent and mostly fair comments on the millennium, the best of which simply says only two managers of this generation have actually left a legacy, Rednose and Arsene, which I think is a fair decent summary from a neutral’s perspective. The full story of Arsene Arsenal is far from told, but tellingly Wenger intimates the gong drought years are his most important accomplishment, including the Invincibles. Well, that’s been our narrative for some time, only Wenger told it better, simpler. As the money got siphoned to the stadium over 7 years (and Arsene is too polite to say it but we can, in the same period Chelsea and later City, and in their lesser way Yoo and even Pool, would contort the entire fabric of EPL football with tycoon wealth and juggernaut buying), the single critical factor was to stay in CL, year after year, for financial reasons. Failure to do so would have placed the everything in jeopardy, threatening the club.

One day people will ask the sensible question, it’ll take time but it will be asked because its the only question. How the hell did you manage to do it Wenger, it has never and had never been done in this context? In fact, there is no parallel whatsoever, it is a singular story. Wenger had so much against him, the pressure must have been immense, especially every last 3 or so months of every season (which Arsene mentions)? Because I had to will be his answer, because we had to. And that courage, humility and intellect (that threesome so often in tandem) will become obvious to all.

And players who themselves knew only part will want to say, “I was part of the amazing story”. And some will because they truly were, and some won’t or will say something forgettable because they deserted, ducked or deflated – in the selfish way of foolish young footballers and their agents – Arsenal’s great quest for something called legacy.

The legacy will outlive every other memory, failure or victory on the field or trophy quests. It will outlive us all, and all the players too. In time it will simply be a chapter in the entire history of football in England, and so will outgrow even Arsenal itself.”

That my friends is why this blog exists. So we can  thoughts lie that.

Today’s post is by Muppet

It’s not too hard to find anti-Arsenal sentiment in any given week of the season.

The narrative in the press after the Bayern defeat was indicative. It told us that Arsenal were simply not good enough, whilst plucky City deserved better.

In the backdrop of the Stoke defeat, we have also been condemned to 4^th place, veritable also-rans in the title race. The bookies followed suit, condemning us to long odds of 16/1 despite being on the same number of points currently as Liverpool.

The Daily Mail’s infamous Neil Ashton, presenter on Sky Sports’ Sunday Supplement, on Twitter @neilashton_

Incredibly, Neil Ashton of the Daily Mail has written a piece, steeped in unbelievable hypocrisy, where he comes out with the risible claim that Spuds have overachieved in the Redknapp years and this over-expectation is now causing unrest amongst fans. Even if we were to entertain these falsehoods – which they are, given their £280m+ transfer net spend – they reek of huge hypocrisy, a bare-faced attempt by a journalist to stick up for one club whilst happily sticking the knife into another;  in this instance it’s us, despite the reality of the comparison being much more in our favour. Indeed, our zero net spend in the transfer market is never mentioned in the press. It is not convenient.  And how the piece actually has truer parallels amongst Arsenal fans is an irony lost on Ashton.

Neil Ashton’s recent form in the last 2 weeks is to say that Ozil was “Nicking a living”. In tandem, the Mirror produced a back page headline, at half time, castigating Ozil’s 1^st half performance against Bayern, not knowing he had a hamstring problem:

Daily Mail’s disgraceful headline from 11th March 2014 – http://dailym.ai/Ojlqq9

The Daily Mirror’s John Cross, too, got into the act, redacting statements on Twitter hurriedly, in the face of a huge backlash from Arsenal fans.

Adrian Durham, another staple of the gutter press. regularly espouses arrant nonsense on TalkSport. Durham claims to like Arsenal, which is quite bonkers, given his notorious “Daily Arsenal” show, which gleefully rejoices at whatever misfortune comes our way, and sneers at any Arsenal fans who go on the radio station to defend the club.

Sneering TalkSPORT radio presenter, Daily Mail columnist and published author, Adrian Durham, on Twitter @talkSPORTDrive

The only saving grace of Durham, is that he has correctly targeted Spuds incompetence in recent times, making him a hate figure across North London. Durham loves to champion moral causes, but fails to mention financial fair play or excesses by huge clubs. When you confront him about the pathetic lack of progress of Manchester City in the champions league, you get the reply, as I did:

“That’s strange, one supporter talking about another club.”

“Amateurish” Andy Dunn – Sunday Mirror sports columnist and Chairman of the Football Writers’ Association, on Twitter @AndyDunn_SM

Another anti-Arsenal sceptic is Andy Dunn.

Despite us being competive pretty much all season, our title challenge was dismissed back in November, even following our recent 2-0 win over Liverpool at home. Forced to backtrack on his claim that we couldn’t win the title, he said we wouldn’t win it. Dunn doesn’t seem to miss an opportunity to put the knife into the Arsenal management, be it Wenger or the board. In August he claimed that the way we were going about our business was “amateurish”.

On September 29th, he pens an article attacking the “lack of ambition” of Stan Kroenke, saying:

“You sense trophies would be a nice bonus on top of the real business – the smooth running of a financially-successful franchise.”

This is all very interesting, but Amateurish Andy offers no context about the competition and environment that we find ourselves in.  Sneering at Kroenke is all well and good, but this is just another example of a journalist who doesn’t understand economics.

It’s very simple.

Arsenal refuse to inject money into players wages or transfers that is not earned by the club.  Other clubs continue to do this.

A Mirror hack to watch out for is Darren Lewis.

Darren Lewis, another Daily Mirror journalist – this one describes himself as ‘a football fan’, on Twitter @MirrorDarren

Almost certainly a Spud.

With statements like “Why Spurs now have bigger fish to fry than Arsenal”, he suggested that the gap was narrowing in 2012. Other articles include asking Arsenal fans to admit why Spurs were no longer the poor relations. Darren Lewis made a fictitious claim that Joachim Low told Ozil that he would miss the World Cup, which is complete nonsense. After reviewing a selection of Lewis’s articles, it is pretty clear, that like Andy Dunn, he does not have a good word to say about Arsenal.

Pundits and Commentators

Understandably there is a lot of anti-Arsenal sentiment amongst pundits, a lot of them ex-Chelsea, Man Utd and Liverpool players.  Michael Owen, Tony Gale, Tony Cascarino are the worst perpetrators. Gale in particular just hates Arsenal and makes no attempt to hide it. How he gets away with commentating for Chelsea is beyond belief.

Cascarino is so stupid he said that “Chamakh was having a holocaust”, which almost finished his ‘career’.

Owen? He is too stupid even to comment on.

Apart from the individuals, more worryingly is the on-going stupidity of the narrative about Arsenal. Every competition we enter there is always a reminder that it’s 9 years without a trophy. Never mind that our Champions League progression in each and every year has eclipsed Manchester City since 2005.

Other annoying examples are that we don’t have a striker, when we have Podolski, Walcott and Giroud.

The questioning of a weak bench when we have eight to ten 1st team players injured.

The lack of acknowledgement of the significance of the absence of Ramsey and Walcott.

The continuing pressure to spend money, particularly in the January transfer window.

My question to the press and pundits is this – City have spent £1 billion, and their return is 1 FA Cup, 1 League title and 1 Carling Cup – is that a good return on their investment ? I would argue no. The narrative of spending money is very rarely directed at Real Madrid, a club and a team that I don’t particularly rate, who have spent similar money over the last 10 years, but have only won 1 Champions league trophy. Real Madrid are the most egregious example of media hype, considering their lack of relative achievement to their net spend.

This is not an attack on Real Madrid, but on the media.

Alan Brazil this morning was trumpeting Ronaldo and Bale this morning. But so what ? A fully fit Arsenal team would match them in my view.

The media narrative and anti-Arsenal bias continues to be self-serving and is part of the entertainment game that is being played out.

Nobody wants to question the vast sums of money being circulated, because they want to be part of it. The media talks up the need for Arsenal to spend and get in on the act. How they still do this following the embarassement of Spuds £100 million pound spend, as former owner Lord Sugar put it: “Like kids in a sweet shop”, is baffling.

If anything, the Spuds debacle shows that patient value acquisitions, achieved over time by Wenger, is the only sustainable model.

But we won’t hear of this.

The “industry” will continue to produce sensationalist headlines for the reactionary wing of the Arsenal fan base to gorge on. The same press that calls for Arsenal to spend money, and when we do, try to label them a flop.

Right now the tide is turning in our favour, and the media know this. They cannot cope with the narrative as it stands, so expect a lot of revisionism and a change of emphasis. Now that we have more money the attacks will come now about what success we should expect, and what “big” players are underperforming.

It will probably get worst.

You can discuss the headlines and more with Muppet on Twitter @MuppetGooner

I am indebted to Yankee Gooner, one of the people I follow on Twitter, who reminded me of this little gem from Fever Pitch:

How could Nick Hornby suggest that back in the dim and distant anyone could possibly devote so much time and obsession to supporting a team that on the face of things they clearly hated?

It seems contrary to any logical behaviour and surely no one feels like this now, especially as there are so many choices of teams to watch on the TV, so many different forms of entertainment; if you think your team are rubbish, then either change your team, or your pastime. I suppose back then there wasn’t that much choice, live football didn’t happen on TV, so if you wanted to follow a team you were pretty much chained to the local club. If you were lucky in the Post Code lottery, you grew up close to Liverpool, or Arsenal, or Manchester United: unfortunate and you were left irrevocably chained to Oldham, Millwall or Portsmouth.

For on the face of things there is nothing rational about such behaviour, about hating so passionately the thing you are meant to love, and it beggars belief that anyone should behave like this nowadays in an era where quite frankly we have never had it so good (and I speak with some authority as I remember the three day week, the power cuts, the football specials and those pitches, shorts and haircuts – particularly the Baseball Ground and Charlie George for some reason). Perhaps however this masochistic impulse is deeply ingrained in the football fan, and looking at the responses on the various Arsenal Twitter feeds, and listening to some of the crowd reactions at the Emirates it would certainly seem to be alive and well in 2014. As far as I can tell, some sections of The Arsenal’s support are exactly like Fan 1: we have been top of the league most of the season, and they still think we are rubbish. How odd to be like that, and how agonisingly self-defeating, but the answer, I think, lies in his last line: to live in hope is all well and good I suppose, but it tends to have a terrible effect on your experience of the present, as almost by definition its suggestion that things must be better in the future also confirms that things ain’t great right now.

Especially so, of course, if your present existence isn’t all beer and skittles – and for so many that is the unfortunate situation. Few of us are true masters of our own destiny. Instead we are forced to work for others in jobs we do not enjoy, if we are lucky enough to have jobs at all. The daily grind eats into the soul, each repetitive task taking us further and further away from all that we thought we were promised in childhood, when everything seemed so rosy and full of possibility. Small wonder then that the fame and fortune as offered by a lottery win or X-Factor success looms so large in the hopeless dreams of the rank and file. And that is where the football club comes in, for each week it also offers an escape from reality and the illusion of success – but actually a much more tangible one. Each match is keenly anticipated and planned for, teams are picked, tactics debated. Those of a certain age believe they are the manager, younger ones the players.  Briefly, the football fan owns the team, for his ticket or his TV subscription (items often dearly bought and involving sacrifice elsewhere) means he has invested in the club just as surely as the millionaire owner or the board of directors have done. All is set fair – let the good times roll! Momentarily we are invincible. The stadium is full of glamour, the latest top signing a beyond-human thoroughbred, the sense of belonging as the anthemic hymns belted out palpable. This is indeed the Promised Land, and giddy with anticipation the cares of our lives fade away, for we are by far the greatest team the world has ever seen.

Except most times they don’t of course. A bad decision, a moment of brilliance from the other team, an all too human error from our champion reminds us that actually everything is shit. We are, after all only mortal, our champions have feet of clay, and if work wasn’t bad enough already we know that on Monday every other fan in the world will be mocking us, buoyed and fed as they are by the sensationalist headlines that await every reverse, and extra-especially every failure to be outstanding from The Arsenal. It doesn’t matter that overall we are doing really rather well, that we are infinitely better off than every other club in the UK bar possibly two financially doped, but oh so beatable rivals; the fact remains that our dreams (however unrealistically) have been shattered. If you are lucky enough (and I can’t believe I am just writing this, because that is the weirdest definition of lucky you will ever see) to know that everything is terrible anyway, you will think something along the lines of “oh well, never mind, how foolish of me to think we might beat Barcelona or Bayern” and just get on with your real life: if however all of your hopes are pinned on the team, and if you were foolish enough to believe that one day that team would unload all good into your life, then of course you will be beyond angry, for your sense of betrayal will be absolute.

And so you resort to saying that they are rubbish, that they were last year, and that they will be next year too. If you are old-fashioned you will share this view with yourself and maybe a mate or two. If you are modern you will broadcast this betrayal of these fancy pants to the wide world you imagine will be listening on your various social platforms.  For a moment you will hate your club and its players (especially the fancy ones that promised so much), because they have just reminded you of how much you hate yourself. But hatred is surprisingly close to love, and, as they say, hope springs eternal, and there is already the next game to look forward to….

Thanks to  @foreverheady for today’s article.

I was about to rack my brains and come up with an article about yesterdays game, full in the knowledge that most will have seen it and read about it already. However, I saw the post by Zim Paul and thought “that’s what I should be writing” So here it is .

“Sometimes a game is truly decided by a goal, bigger than the game as it were, and so deserves such accolade. This was not one of those. It was of course a goal of the season contender. But it was a defensive performance of heroic proportions against a Spurs side that needed this win, and whatever it took to do it. Make no mistake this was Spurs actual cup final, a do or die affair and they played accordingly; we have a few more, oh 11 more “cup finals” all told, I believe.

The Arsenal team itself (if the Ox interview is any reflection, and he is such a straight talking bloke I think it was) was disappointed with the level they played and mistakes they made, but did not find the result lucky or incongruous. Now that’s worth everything! Because that says more about this team than anything else.

Last time we had a “definitive” run of matches, which was like yesterday (Feb), we started badly, had some outrageous bad luck, then picked ourselves up, then stumbled. This time we have a definitive tricky run, now half way through, we remain unbeaten (H A A and have conjured 6 for and 2 against). As Frank says, everyone and their dog under-estimates our side and its combination of crisp creativity and bloody resilience, and that’s exactly the way we like it. Look at Liverpool! Look at City! And everyone’s money is on Chelsea anyway. This is a very, very good sign. Hope it continues.”

I would just like to add that its beyond annoying that when other teams play as we did yesterday , we are told “when you can play like that and win ,it means you can win the title”

Yet when Arsenal do just that its “you cant play like that and win the title”.

Odd, very odd.

Today we revisit a classic tale where Frank looks back, more in sorrow than in anger, to re-tell a chilling tale of a long-lost summer of love, terrible betrayal and lots of super furry animals. 

Today’s page turner …

I was mugged in Seven Sisters.

To be accurate I was attacked in Seven Sisters since nothing was stolen.

Cold bloodedly gratuitously attacked.  A summer afternoon several decades ago spent with a friend and I was heading home to Tufnell Park.  It was an early evening in July but I could hardly see as I turned into the tunnel heading for the tube, eating sausage and chips.  Out of nowhere something hit me on the back of the head and just as I turned, a fist hit me in the mouth.  I fell to the ground in a daze and the protagonists proceeded to kick the living shit out of me.

There was a lot a ‘fackin’ this’ and ‘kantin that’ as the boots went in and afterwards just the sound of nasal snickering.  Before I passed out I caught a glimpse of two of them.  One in white trousers and a bowler hat with ‘Tottenham Droogies’ written across the back.  The other had calf-length faded jeans, docs, white tee shirt, braces …. and a tattoo on his forearm.

A tattoo of a cock and ball.

I must have been out for a while because when I woke up, the ends of the tunnel were dark.  The reek of urine and unwashed bodies was only just bearable.  I was surrounded by squashed chips and, nestling in the gutter by the wall with not a bite out of it, was my sausage.  My head hurt like hell, split lip, bumps and bruises all over but I seemed to be OK.

I’d got away with it.

Could have been killed.  Could have been maimed or paralyzed for life.  Thankfully I had done what most blokes who are being kicked in the head do, I protected my privates.  Death is preferable to castration.

I had survived.

Slowly I got up.  I just wanted to get home.  Brushed off the fag ends, chewing gum, dog shit.  Stretched out my arms and then my legs, moved my head from side to side.  Tested my aching bones.  Nothing broken.  Lets go home, Frank.  Then someone behind me coughed.

I spun round afraid that they had come back to finish me off.

But there standing in front of me was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.  She had on an ankle length yellow dress and sandals.  She had long, long tresses of red hair and her smile was extraordinary; it could fill a room, or, in this case, a tunnel.  Her smell was intoxicating and as she touched my face with her hand I just knew that she was an angel.

I was dead and on my way to heaven.

She asked me if I was okay.  She asked me if I was in pain.  She asked if there was anything she could do for me … and before I could answer she passed me her guinea pig and started mopping my brow.

Guinea pig?

What the feck?

She gave me a guinea pig?  Well yes she did.  She handed me her guinea pig.  Cleaned me up.  Took her guinea pig back.  Held my hand and took me to Tufnell Park.

That is how I met Maude.

Oh Maude, Maude, Maude – you were perfect.  She took me home to my apartment and stayed for three weeks.  What a three weeks!

Idyllic.

Walking on the Heath.  Drinking in The Flask in Highgate.  Strolling through Waterlow Park.  Saying “hello” to Karl Marx.  Wearing each others’ clothes.

Actually she wore mine, I didn’t wear hers, I really didn’t.  Getting drunk together on Grand Marnier and sick together afterwards.  Listening to a friend play folk songs outside the Admiral Mann.  I even started to read poetry, although it didn’t last.  Mostly though, we just made love.  Anywhere and everywhere.

In that time I was treated to a parade of animals.

Guinea pigs, rats, hamsters, geckos, turtles, tortoises, parrots, budgies, kittens, puppies, fish, snakes, you name it.

Every day she would disappear for a few hours and return with different animals.  Only on Sundays would she return without an animal and on Sunday evenings she was always very tired.  The explanation turned out to be a bit crazy but I could deal with it.  She let on that she was into animal liberation and spent much of her time nicking animals from pet shops and domestic animal stockists.

Her aim in life was to free them all.

Create an animal utopia where they could all live free from human bondage.  How she managed to get plastic bags of tropical fish and a twelve foot python out of a shop without anyone noticing I have no idea.  But she did it.  Insane of course, and I loved her all the more for it.  We were madly, stupidly, giddily happy.

Until that fateful day in early August.

So far we had lived in my flat.  It was OK.  But I was getting more and more curious.  Where did she live?  How long?  What was it like?  Was she sure that she was not using the animals as a cover for her sneaking back to a long time live-in partner or husband?

Joke, sort of.  What was she hiding?

After much cajoling on my part she finally agreed that we could stay at her place.  She lived in a flat on the first floor of a Victorian house on the A10 near to the junction with Clapton Common.  She had been on her way home when she found me in the tunnel.

So off we went.

We spent a pleasant few hours in the Spaniards’ Inn and went to a party with friends in Stoke Newington.  Caught a taxi to hers.  Let ourselves in.

Her living room was full of no-longer-soon-to-be-pets.

It was smelly and it was noisy, but she cleared a space  and we sat and drank tea and chatted amongst the boxes, cages, baskets and tanks.  Finally we fell into bed exhausted.  The following day was Monday and neither of us needed to get up early.  We were very soon fast asleep in each others arms.

We awoke on Monday morning refreshed.  She made cups of tea and brought them back to bed.  Gradually we began to get interested, the way you do.

We kissed and cuddled …

Then Maude whispered that she would like to make love in daylight amongst the trees and birdsong.  Her garden was beautiful at this time of year, she said.  She asked me to open the curtains and open the window.

Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.

About as excited as I have ever been in my life I leapt out of bed, hopped to the almost full-length sash window and threw open the red velvet curtains to let the sun in …

The No 149 bus route has been transporting the residents of that area to the City for many years and I believe that it still does to this day.

In the days of the old Routemasters, in the rush hour the bottom deck was crammed full of people, many standing and some dangling from the platform at the back.  Upstairs was calmer and those fortunate enough to get a seat were able to read the paper or a book, do the crossword, do the Pools, knit, or in most cases just sit and watch the world go by.  There are a number of points on that journey where the bus comes to a standstill for quite a while as the traffic gets well and truly jammed.

One particular point is just outside Maude’s flat.

The floor of the top deck on those buses is roughly about the level of the first floor of that particular block of houses, and the windows of the bus are about six feet from the residents’ windows.  You can see awful lot from the top of that bus and on that day passengers had a real treat.

As the curtains opened they were greeted with … think of Leonardo’s Study of Human Proportions according to Vitruvius. 

But weedier and in a state of arousal.

For my own part I just remember seeing an endless stream of tickets coming out of the Clippie’s machine and thinking thank goodness they can’t see my feet because I’ve still got my socks on.  I turned to shout at Maude for setting me up, and as I did so I noticed something.  Something very serious indeed.  Something which caused me to shut out the embarrassment of the last few seconds completely.  I couldn’t believe it.  I froze.  The blood drained from my face and obviously from other places.

The bottom fell completely out of my world.

In the lower right hand corner of the window was a sticker.  Not a very big one, about the size of a bob-a-job sticker.  But this particular sticker had a motif on it.  A dreadful symbol.

A cock and ball.

We just hadn’t discussed football.  People had the summer off in those days.  No transfer activity.  I turned to her and just shouted “TOTTENHAM” at her at the top of my voice.  At first she completely misunderstood and she laughed and shouted:  “YES. YOU TOO …?”.

But before she could finish, she realised.

It was probably me screaming “YOU ARE A FARKING SPUD” that gave it away.  Her beautiful face contorted into an ugly grimace and in a vicious whisper she spat “Arsenal.  You are a fecking Gunner?  You bastard”.

I couldn’t stay.

I needed air.  I grabbed my clothes, putting them on as I scrambled through the menagerie in the living room.  I got to the front door and slammed it to, shutting out the cacophony behind me.  I headed for a café on the corner of the block, ordered coffee and just sat in a window seat sipping and smoking.  I half expected her to follow and to be honest I half hoped that she would.

But I realised it was over.

I could take the pet rustling and I could even take being humiliated in front of a bus full of people but I could not take the fact that she was a SPUD.  That could never work.

But that was not quite the end of it.

As I sipped my third coffee, having smoked half a pack of cigarettes, two panda cars and a police van arrived at her flat.  Maude was led out in handcuffs and for the next hour policemen loaded the back of the van with her contraband, Noah’s Ark fashion.  I felt bad about that at the time as I watched her driven away in the back of the police car it seemed unjust that she should go down for stealing animals when she had such good if not misguided intentions.  It turned out in court about six weeks later though, that every Sunday she ran a pet stall on Club Row.

She had been nicking pets and flogging them on.  She also stole them to order.

I will always remember Maude though and if I ever meet her again, which is very unlikely, I know exactly what I will say to her……………

“CARMON ARSENAL CARMON ARSENAL CARMON ARSENAL

ARSENAL, ARSENAL, ARSENAL….ARSENAL, ARSENAL, ARSENAAAAL…ARSENAL, ARSENAL, ARSENAL….ARSENAL….ARSENAL”

Frank can occasionally be found on Twitter @ohdearaaah