Just like many of the Saturday mornings that have passed by in 2021, I took a trip to the Clapham Junction Asda to get the goods in for my surrogate mother Mrs J.

Her daughter V had already informed me of what goods she needed (‘Please can you get her the same list as last time’), which was now engrained in the back of my mind I don’t think I can now go into that Asda without thinking ‘potatoes, prawns, mousse…’!

Shopping paid for, and I loaded my preprepared bag, and cycled down the road to Mrs J’s. There was a subliminal message from the Daily Mail and the shopping bag for me to bring it home.

I rang the doorbell, and I’m pleased to say I brought it home for Mrs J. I couldn’t escape without a bar of galaxy again (Mrs J did the puppy dog eyes, and you can’t say no to a 91 year old giving you that sort of look). We talked about the football, and Mrs J gave me some advice on how to eat my chocolate whilst watching England bring it home. So look out for me in the pub tomorrow, nervously snacking on a bar of smooth milk galaxy, whilst Sterling dribbles down the left wing and plays a perfect ball into the head of Kane…