Settle down to watch FA Cup final.
Arsenal 2 nil down in approximately ten minutes.
Give up all hope, but keep watching while feeling despondent.
Arsenal get a goal back.
Arsenal keep nearly scoring a second but don’t.
Get tetchier. Pace about a bit.
Take self into kitchen to listen on the radio as the kids keep distracting me.
Turn radio volume off intermittently when Hull might score, can’t bear the pain.
Turn it up again.
Arsenal have equalised.
Extra time, oh god, don’t let it go to penalties, I won’t survive penalties.
Arsenal score! ARSENAL SCORE – WE ARE GOING TO WIN THE FA CUP!
This positivity last ten seconds before I become convinced Hull will get a goal back.
Spend remainder of game in abject agony with pulse racing.
THEY WON, THEY BLOODY WON!!
*jumps up and down a bit and goes online to celebrate with fellow gooners*
Heart rate eventually returns to normal about 2 hours later.
It is not fun being a fan, it is torture. Torture repaid once in a blue moon when your team win something, so I am going to enjoy it. I watched the open bus tour on the telly, stroked the pictures in the newspaper, marvelled that Arsene Wenger looked so much younger immediately (and checked the mirror to see if the same anti-ageing effect had also happened to me, sadly not) and generally wallowed in the happiness. This will last about a week before World Cup nerves kick in. You lot who don’t like it are the lucky ones, sitting through it bored is infinitely better for your health!
Love Miss Cisco XXX