I know I’ll curry no favour with my lovely friend Colin who thinks it’s a bit rich complaining of the woes of being a Spurs fan but nonetheless I will say that sometimes it’s all rather TOO exciting if you get my drift!

Mind you, my trip to the game (rather than just the fact that the games are all 'five goal thrillers') was all a bit too much excitement – after ‘wall-to-wall meetings’ in the office, including my appraisal (how I hate navel gazing), I scooted out of the door at 5.30pm, ran to the train station, missed a train, got into London and got caught up in a bomb scare, got a bus (because of the bomb scare), got a tube, got another tube, got another bus then ran the last half a mile along Tottenham High Road, scurrying into the Bell and Hare with mere moments to go.

Mind you, once I was there, had stopped panting (through exertion, well, to tell the truth a bit of excitement too) and quaffed a can of ‘wife beater’, we strolled round to the ground, took up our (lofty) seats and thought we were going to be on for an exhibition match – after all, we were three away goals to the advantage!

Alas it was not to be and the first really exciting moment was a tad too exciting in anyone’s books – one of our midfielders hit a blinding header into our own net! Huh? That wasn’t supposed to happen! I’m not sure if Tom Huddlestone’s knock-knees played a part in the action there but boy, has that boy got them!

Thankfully, our hero (Di-mi-tar Ber-ba-tov) then stuck one in the other net very quickly and we felt a little easier…..and even better when we got to the half-time whistle with another under our belt. Phew.

Then it all went horribly wrong again (and I don’t mean the stooooooopid UEFA rules of no beers at half-time), when in a free-kick, our wall fell down and we were all-of-a-sudden on level terms. Oh no. Not that again – looking comfortable then suddenly finding ourselves in a tighter squeeze than should have been the case.

This pic is one of the night’s squandered chances – as you can see, goalie sprawled on the floor and an open goal yet we failed to bury the ball in the back netting (again). BUT eventually, the goal came, we won the match, won the tie and got ourselves a new European record (according to my hero, but a new Mr Anorak for this stat, DM) who tells me that no club has ever won eight European matches in a row before. I hope he’s right about that one or I’ll have egg on my face today after assuring the boys in the B&H after the game that it was as ‘true as I stand here’.

Later, much later, (after 1am), I walked in the door of my new ‘home from home’ and climbed into bed.

All-in-all, the difficulties of getting to WHL don’t matter to me. The experience, the friendships struck and the ‘smell of the grass’ are what matters. Oh and Sarah – I still can’t stop smiling after seeing you…..happy birthday for tomorrow, my friend. I love you.

Last year, I was also in an emotional lather!