It’s going to take some time to shake this feeling. Frankly, I don’t want to shake it. I don’t want the flare smell, akin to a thousand party poppers going off at once, to leave my skin, I don’t want the stream of content to subside and I don’t want this joy to leave.
When the final whistle blew in Manchester City’s 1-1 draw at Bournemouth the tears flowed, I pulled on jeans and trainers, told the lad to change out of his pyjamas and headed to the Emirates Stadium. Then, on Sunday, I was back, champagne in hand, for an emotional lap of the stadium and a pilgrimage to the old East Stand at Highbury to sit on the steps in front of the marble halls.
