Off, then, to White Hart Lane, to see Tottenham Hotspur for the third Saturday on the trot. Not that I mind. I'm becoming quite attached to them in an odd sort of way, probably like other members of The Rolling Stones have become "quite attached" to Ronnie Wood.
As it's the FA Cup, everything is up for grabs, but as they're playing Peterborough United, who came only to avoid a hammering, Spurs saunter through, as if - cliche alert, cliche alert - it were a training session. In fact, I'm not entirely sure Harry "H" Redknapp didn't treat it as one, just to see how Luka Modric and Niko Kranjcar gel (very well indeed) and to check whether Robbie Keane has really lost it (maybe, maybe).
The hackroom may be a bit (ie a lot) cramped (folklore has it that when they built the new stand, Spurs forgot the press box and press room, surely that can't be true) but the ladies who serve the hackfood (an unashamedly edible chilli) are a delight and you can almost smell the good vibes of a club who're finally getting it together after years of Jol, Ramos, Hoddle and the rest. I have my reservations vis-a-vis, ahem, "H", but he's done an astonishingly good job here and his public reaction to the players sneaking off to Dublin to drink their bodyweight in Cristal was a masterclass in how to handle a potential humiliation.
The press box is subhuman unless your size is closer to Mickey than Wayne Rooney and the view from it astonishingly poor, but I'm next to Jim Foulerton of the Independent (and the Express, oddly) which makes things better. He can't sport the wi-fi out. He's not alone ,but since there's nothing resembling a shock afoot, nobody is going to be given an extra few hundred words. Afterwards, "H" gets as easy ride as his team did. Fair enough, he deserves it.
Peterborough's Mark Cooper fails to hit the right note afterwards. He's as defeatist as his team had been. That they were actually defeated is neither here nor there and his musing that it might have been nice if Spurs had rested more stars than Crouch, Jenas and Lennon hardly inspires confidence in him getting three points against Newcastle or West Brom. I ask him why he hadn't been more adventurous. He shrugs and says that if he had, his team might have lost by seven and that system (one isolated attacker, unsupported by an over-manned midfield tripping over each other) scored four against Cardiff the other day. He was so right and so wrong. Darren Ferguson must be chuckling at the wonder of it all.

Playlist: Scarlette Fever, You Don't Know My Name. As joyous as Zoe's Sunshine On A Rainy Day. She'll be my tip for 2010, then, despite that rogue "e". We may not choose to speak of this prediction in December.

Moment of zen: one piece 15 with possessive apostrophes, all correctly used.