I have a confession to make. It’s not good, and you’re not going to like it. I quite like (or rather liked) Tottenham Hotspur. There, I’ve said it. Got it off my chest at last and as a consequence I feel a strange sense of relief.

Now I realise that this heinous admission may well result in me being pilloried in the forum section of this website but I must claim mitigating circumstances. Bear with me if you will. I was born in Peterborough, which itself is never easy. For a start some of you won’t even know where it is. “Is that near Manchester?” I’m often asked. It’s a nowhere town, but most especially it has a nowhere football club.

Do you have any idea what it’s like supporting the Sunderland of the lower divisions – sometimes too good for Division 2, never ever good enough for Division 1? Like most of my school chums, and as a “Posh” supporter, I was desperately looking for something else to cling to. I dismissed Liverpool and Man Utd. I couldn’t bring myself to follow Forest or Derby. I thought about Leicester, but that would have been a gross act of betrayal. Of course I looked at Arsenal, but as Swindon had just beaten them in the League Cup Final I thought, “Naaaaaaah – way too painful”. So I, err, settled on Spurs. Sorry. I know, I know. How dare I? I do feel bad, if that helps in any way.

So what do I do? I marry an Arsenal girl and eventually, as the years pass we have Arsenal-loving sons and a daughter who now thinks Theo is the cutest thing on the planet. There are images of Freddie on my fridge and my wife has even taken to occasionally sporting (much to our amusement) a Tomas Rosicky haircut. My wife has loved Arsenal since the 1980s. Charlie Nicholas, Perry Groves, Tony Adams and then Ian Wright. The title win at Anfield in 1989? She jumped so high I thought she’d hit her head on the ceiling.

Some years ago my son became a Junior Gunner, and as someone would need to take him to Highbury from our home in Windsor, my wife and I both signed up. So we take it in turns to take him to games and he buys shirts and programmes and badges and hats. He puts posters on his wall and I sit in wonder as wife and boys go potty as Arsenal destroy Milan and outplay Madrid. I mean, what’s a guy to do? It gets to you, it really does. It seeps into your subconscious.

I look at Arsenal.com more and more, I read transfer speculation and hang on every word from Le Boss. I watched games at the old place and love the new stadium. I love the people, the players, the songs, the banter and the atmosphere… I buy The Gooner and programmes and pay £8 to watch the away games on Sky pay-per-view. Is Denilson ready for the first team? When will Theo’s luck change? Is Pat Rice Kurt Russell’s body double? There’s no escaping it; I’m one of you now.

If you’ll have me that is?