This time last week, I was gazing firmly at my navel. Peering mournfully through black eyeliner at the poetry of Sylvia Plath whilst listening to The Jesus and Mary Chain on repeat. Without wishing to crucify the point, a pair of meek cup performances had left me one exasperated motherfucker.
Right then, stupid pointless, irritating internationals are out of the way, now we can get back to the real thing. So far there have been no reports of maimings, snappings, twistings or any other ings which might prove damaging to an Arsenal player’s chances of playing on Saturday. Robin van