Hasselbaink was missing from the starting line up after his tantrum at Goodison Park and with McFlo away the noo the front line was left to Gudjohnsen to patrol solo with Poyet and the ever-dependable Zola in backup. It's a good job that it was Derby who were visiting today and not one of the premiership big boys like Ipswich. Our worst fears were allayed though when Gudjohnsen banged one in and then another and then Poyet shoved it in too.

Sam Dalla Bona (new song - sing "Sam Dalla Bona" instead of "Who let the dogs out") was cracking. Really busy, keen, eager and very aggressive until he got into the 18 yard box, where his nerve deserted him. A few more years on that one and he will be ramming them home ten a penny. Zola, as usual, did not flag once. He must have run 10K on that pitch if you added it all up and strung it together and he got his just rewards as the stadium erupted into "La-la-la-Zola".

There is a certain piety about being at home with 3 goals on the old scoreboard but whilst it means you do not perch on the end of your seat thinking "Why the hell do I do this to myself? Who would be a football fan?" and incessantly chew gum so that the next day your jaw has swollen so much on one side that you look like a hamster, you are also less likely to shout and scream for the team.

Not so for one gentleman who has left both the very lovely Tania and I deaf in the right lughole. Every bastard bloody Chelsea song, every bastard bloody minute. And, he felt it necessary to stand up each time with his bloody bastard arms spread whilst he bellowed. Don't get me wrong, I'm all up for a "Ten men went to mow" "Carefree" and especially the unforgettable "The famous Tottenham Hotspur went to Rome to see the Pope", but he was relentless. I mused over whether to invite him back to my house for a nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for a discussion on current affairs. Tania advised against it, on the grounds that he looked more like a Chardonnay man.

That was the bloke to the right, now to the bloke in front. He farted constantly throughout both halves. I was relieved to get to half time thinking that the dirty beggar might do the decent thing and go to the khazi. Nope! Thus we endured a second half of rancid miasma, and let's just say that you could tell he wasn't a vegetarian..

To give what is known as 360-degree feedback, I must not forget the chap behind. This one was a gobshite. His mate had seen fit to change the language on his mobile to "Egyptian" and he did not know how to change it back because he didn't have a clue what was being asked of him when pressing buttons. Big up his mate. Egyptian does not exist as a language; they speak Arabic so he didn't know what he was on about anyway. This was further proved when he said to his mate "I really rate that err… Jon Harley (who wasn't even playing) or is it John Terry, Harley, no Terry, you know that John one there (indicates). " Question: How do you "rate" someone on the field who you are unable to distinguish from a player that is not ?

I will leave you with the birds in the pub. Shortly before the game, Tania and I went into the Slug & Lettuce just next to Fulham Broadway station for a quick (quickie ? pint ? other ? you did not specify - Priesty). As you can imagine it was full of revellers in jocular mood. There was this group of not unattractive birds sat at a table in the window who were looking none too pleased with what was going on around them. Blokes on a pink ticket were trying to talk to them and each time they did the girls assumed a face not dissimilar to a bulldog licking piss of a nettle (thanks Priesty!). Now, girls, let's face it, on a Saturday afternoon you ought not to be on the Fulham Road really, ought you? No. So don't do it again!

Positive points of the weekend:

1. I have the flat to myself for two weeks.
2. Leeds cocked up against Southampton
3. Middlesbrough are the bottom of the league
4. Spurs let a 3-1 lead slip at Bradford.

What do YOU think ? Want to add your point of view ? Here's your chance to send me some feedback. NB: Opposing fans: abuse will be laughed at and then binned, so don't waste your time. Considered, intelligent argument, presented in the spirit of friendly rivalry guarantees a response.