Maybe today...

Tonight, Totnum take the short trip across the barren shithole that is North London, to visit neighbours Arsenal at the borough-famous Library.

Arsenal need to win. A draw won't do them, they have to dispose of Totnum tonight to keep alive the ridiculously slim chance they have of catching us. So by nightfall, we could be Champions.

Fulham came to the Bridge on Saturday. These are the Foolham fans who despise us so intently, which always creates much amusement in the stands. Who are they anyway?

Hilariously, they were rubbing their fingers at us, in some strange gesture which supposedly intimated that we had bought our way to the title. This, coming from a bunch of supporters ("Oh, I've always supported Fulham" Yeah, when they had gates of 300 a week only a few years ago, where were you eh?) who follow a club pulled out of oblivion by a crooked Egyptian thief, with no passport, who pumped over 100 million quid in, in his quest to make them the "Manchester United of the South". A small team in Putney is all you are...

Anyway, they were readily disposed of after Lord Percy had let his immense Wednesday night performance go to his head and allow the ridiculously titled Collins John score just before the break, to level with Joe Cole's super strike.

The second half saw the long-awaited return of Arjen Robben, and his conjuring helped break them down and Lampard took his chance well to put us in the lead, only for Gudjohnsen to add another later and finish them off 3-1.

Three English scorers on St George's Day too...Well, Eidur is practically English.

Finally, on the subject of English heroes, John Terry deservedly picked up the PFA Player of the Year award last night. Congratulations to him because he really deserves it and its superb to see a defender win it. It's been a decade since the award was given to someone at the back.

Wayne Rooney got the PFA Young Footballer of the Year award. What for? Perhaps best wife-beating, granny-shagging, lard-arsed Neanderthal would be more appropriate.