You know what they say? Joni Mitchell never wrote a better, deeper song than Both Sides Now no matter how much she aspired to be better and deeper. For the next 42 years.
Anyway, today it's Blackburn Rovers and Newcastle United. Good. They both conceded four last week so it'll be goals a go-go this week; they're both in a sort of turmoil so there's back stories aplenty and the cavernous Rovers hackbox means I won't get crushed.
If nothing else, Blackburn are a proper club. Their ground still sits snugly amongst terraced houses, although not as many terraced houses as when I first came; they have some sense of a distinctly chequered history; and they understand that nobody cares about them beyond the Ribble Valley. Deep down, they seem grateful to even be near the Premier League, let alone in the thing.
It's somehow right that they've been taken over by Indians (nice ponytail, Balaji Rao) too, with the unspoken although patently bonkers suggestions that the youth of Ammakandakara will soon be wandering the streets wearing half-blue, half-white shirts and Vince Grella will suddenly turn out to be big in Bidar. And then there's Steve Kean who, according to the usually reliable Nick Harris in the DM, has been assured by the Indians that he's unsackable for two-and-a-half years. We'll see about that.
And there's Newcastle. Always worth a chuckle to the bewildered outsider. This week, they've replaced Andy Carroll with Shefki Kuqi, presumably on account of Carl Leaburn wasn't available and they're still playing Peter Lovenkrands and Mike Williamson. Still, Jose Enrique's looking the part, I've always had a soft spot for Leon Best and Steve Harper's much underrated. Alan Pardew might not be unsackable - I'd love to see what his five-year contract actually says though - but said five-year contract should mean he won't need another job, ever.
You'll be relieved to learn that the tea's northern and robust, but the food in the hackroom is too vile to even contemplate (nice soup at half time though), but I can have a gossip with Mark Ryan of the MOS - he does the same daft but sad thing as me on Sunday mornings and for exactly the same reasons - and Clavane of the SM. We're all looking forward to the feast of goals to come.
Of course it turns out to be 0-0 and it's the worst game in living memory, which in my case extends as far back as January. Newcastle, bar the predictably excellent Jose Enrique, are dreadful, but Blackburn are worse (I really want to like Christopher Samba; until I see him) and, essentially, nothing happens, bar both teams keeping morale-boosting team sheets. Perhaps this is what happens when managers are secure, but I'm not sure Blackburn are safe from relegation yet.
Afterwards, even after encountering him for the second time in a week, I'm still not sure about Steve Kean. He seems a decent enough cove, but maybe my judgement is coloured by how lucky he is. That's not wholly fair, I know, but let's see. I'll give him another go.
Unlike, erm, some people, I've always liked Pardew an ,especially, his earnestness. He talks football sense - quite clearly too - and he almost apologises for the game he's just helped oversee. I ask him about inculcating his football values and putting his stamp on Chris Hughton's team. "That's a tough question," he muses (in hackworld, such encomium is the equivalent of being praised by teacher) and gives it a considered response. As we all know, someone, someday will turn Newcastle United around . Whether it's Alan Pardew remains to be seen. I give Clavane a lift home. We have much to discuss...

Playlist
Bright Eyes
The People's Key
It's a warm, wry and fantastic record, but it takes a while to fall in love with and it makes more sense live so much better live. Win-win then.