I STRUGGLED to muster the enthusiasm to drag myself off the couch on Sunday afternoon. I’d been feeling decidedly ropy and the last thing I fancied was freezing my cods off on my motorbike traversing the capital to Stamford Bridge.

THERE was me thinking a tortuous, four-hour trek home in midweek, following a dire goalless game against Villa was going to be my lowlight... little did I know!

OUR FA Cup fourth-round tie at fortress Britannia was always going to be a stiff test, no matter what team Arsène put out.

DON’T get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against bad losers, as it’s the distaste for defeat that makes determined winners. Still I wanted Arsene Wenger to shake Mark Hughes’ hand last Wednesday night and prove himself to be the bigger man, instead of demonstrating the same lack of stature that some would have us believe is a crucial weakness in this Arsenal squad.

THERE was an awful déjà vu moment, when Liam Ridgewell took Theo Walcott out, in the opening blows of a typically bruising encounter with Birmingham on Saturday.

ATMOSPHERE-WISE, the short trip to Fulham is always one of my favourite outings of the season, as with Arsenal fans being allocated the entire Putney Stand, the craic in our stand behind the goal at Craven Cottage is invariably up to ninety.

SIX yellow cards in a game which didn’t include a single malicious tackle; United back on terms from the award of a penalty at the Stretford End, after Shava’s far more blatant penalty shout had been ignored; then our much-maligned manager suffering the ultimate ignominy of being sent to the stands, for the last few seconds, after harmlessly venting his frustration on a water bottle. All in all, a fairly typical, fruitless afternoon at Old Trafford.