Hello. A good a place to start as any, I suppose. You know where you are with hello. It’s comforting, familiar. In the same way it’s nice to know that a tiny part of every Arsenal fan’s soul must die when they see Theo Walcott in the number ‘14’ shirt  each weekend, only to more often than not play like Lenny Henry rather than the garment’s most formidable inhabitant. For every soggy, wilted cross and shonked effort wide, they must be delighted to know that, every so often, one will deflect in off his face and he’ll celebrate like a pillock. Table tennis?
Sacré Bleugh.
Jolly good. Well Friday night was a bit of a weird one, by the sounds of it. From what I’ve heard about the Watford encounter (and I keep using these non-committal terms beca...