A spring now in my jaded step, I made it home and flicked on the radio, listening to the pundits saying it was perhaps the game of the season, listening to Bacon Face decrying his defence and sending Schadenfreude texts to my Rag mate, tempered slightly by the fact that the City match was still an hour and a half from kick-off. There was also much talk also of how City could wrest back the initiative by winning at Molineux, of how destiny had brought us to this point, and blah blah blah. I vacillated for some time, working out whether I wanted to spend almost £4 on a pint, whether I could be bothered to walk to the top of the hill, and - most importantly - what effect my decision would have on the outcome of the match, knowing full well that my choice would definitely influence the game.
Finally, I settled on going for one pint and one half of 90 minutes, arriving at the bar a minute or two after the start. Wolves looked bright enough, and were testing us with set pieces and high balls into the box, but their early threat faded somewhat, and we had a good few chances which were agonisingly close before Clichy played that absolute peach of a pass and allowed Kun the sniff he needed to bang in his 22nd goal of his debut season. What a player he is! Home again for the second half, and a few more scares before the quick thinking of Tevez gave Nasri an easy task to seal the points, sending the Yow Yows back down below in the process.
All on now for a week today, and a match to look forward to if ever there was one.