Sixteen games, sixteen different goalscorers. Had my Man-of-the-Match, Craig Eastmond, spoiled the symmetry by capping his splendid evening with a debut goal, it would have been churlish to carp. His tackle set up Merida for the opener and watch again, please, his cross-field pass in the build-up to Nic's clincher. For me, he didn't stand out in Steve Bould's outstanding youth team that beat all-comers last season. But what do I know? Arsene Knows, as the saying goes, and that's Watt matters! Only a cameo from Sanchez this round, even though he's cited in dispatches as pushing for first team recognition; though only he knows why he passed when even Eboue would have known to shoooooot.

At last year's AGM, disbelieving shareholders heard that the bright future was not Orange but English. "Yes, English (emphasised)", repeated Le Prof. "And I'm a Dutchman," thought the massed ranks of Doubting Thomases. First Theo, then Gibbs and Wilshere (not Wilshire, pretty please), now Eastmond and the lad from Victoria Park. And then there's Jay Simpson: Division 1's Player of the Season when on loan at Millwall for just half of it, still of no fixed abode but currently plying his lethal trade at Loftus Road and scoring goals for fun in a team that may win automatic promotion. I hope they do.

Talk about cobblers' children, brokers' portfolios and builders' homes. The Scousers are hardly heeding their own advice to "calm down, calm down", are they? And no wonder. They've won one more game than they've lost (8 vs. 7) and could effectively exit the Champions League next week. Rafa Rage would then reach Fever Pitch. Fingers crossed. In stark contrast, our record is 12-2-2, in boxing parlance. Remember that when next opining that we are a selling club that don't have the strength in depth of the other "Big Four" clubs. Citeh aside - a game that we should have at least drawn - the three disappointments featured five goals conceded from set pieces. Referees could illegitimately claim an "assist" with four of them.

At last week's AGM I half expected an impromptu rendition of the world's most oft-sung song - Happy Birthday - to our sexagenarian. Perhaps Edith Piaf's timeless classic, Je Ne Regrette Rien, would have been more apt.