The transfer window at this stage is essentially fan fiction. What if Dr Frankenstein had turned up at Pemberley and conducted a waspish romance with Elizabeth Bennet? What if Akela was not just a wolf but a werewolf? What if famous and attractive Tennis Player X were having a fling with famous and attractive Tennis Player Y? And what if Arsenal actually signed a centre-forward?
There hasn’t yet been time for reality to intervene. It’s like the day after the World Cup draw when everything exists in a realm of pure perfection and you can imagine the platonic ideal of each country facing off, unsullied by form, injury or disputes over bonuses.