NOT BAD FOR A BERTIE

A cock-up over the ticket allocation and I'm left without. Still, I usually manage to find my way into away matches, and without paying over the odds. Bricey calls for me in his brand new Merc.

Bricey feels needlessly guilty about my lack of ticket and is sniffing for a tout. Nothing doing. Lots of Blues want tickets. It feels uncomfortable. We nod and exchange pleasantries, knowing that come 2.55pm when someone finally offers one up, the ticketless Blues will be at each other's throats.

A tout approaches. "Want a ticket lads?"

"How much?"

"One and a half," says the tout.

"One and a half?"

"One and a half hundred to see the greatest footballer in the world," says the tout, with a straight face.

I burst out laughing.

Hughesy arrives. Another ticketless friend. We tell him about the tout.

"You should have taken out £1.50 and claimed your ticket," he says.

We talk about the horror of sitting in the home end. Hughesy tells us of a West Ham fan who sat in the home end at Chelsea and couldn't help cheering a last-minute winner. Fortunately, a hard bastard cheered at the same moment. Relief.

As he was walking out of the ground, the hard bastard came up to him and said: 'You were cheering, weren't you, when the Hammers scored."

The bloke grinned. "Yes, like you."

"I was only cheering 'cos I had a bet on that we'd lose 1-0," said the hard bastard, before headbutting him. Chelsea all over.

I have sat in the "home" end only once - against Arsenal, as it happens. We lost 5-0.

Hughesy and I decide we'd be better off locked outside than in the Arsenal end. As he wanders off, a well-spoken, well-to-do man approaches.

"D'you want a ticket?" he says.

"Yes," says Briceyg, ecstatic.

"In the City end?" I say, hopefully.

"No, Arsenal end, but good seats, and you'll be sitting next to me."

"Ermm ...what're the people like?"

"Good. Nice people," says the well-to-do man, "except for one fella who has a right go at away fans in the home end. But if you're quiet it'll be fine."

"What you hesitating for?" Briceyg says. "Take it."

I don't want it. I don't want to be in the home end. I want to be with Briceyg and Hughesy, playing happy Blue families.

"OK. How much?"

"£50. Cost price. Actually, less than cost price."

I pull a face, but it's too late. I'm already handing over the money.

The West Stand at Highbury is so strange. Nobody sings, some of the fans wear suits. They should rename it the Accountants Stand.

The rest of the crowd sings "Ian Wright Wright Wright" as he presents Thierry Henry with a trophy for becoming Arsenal's top scorer. I sing "Shauny Wright Wright Wright", subversively. Pathetic. Nobody can hear me, and he doesn't even play for us any more.

Great position at the halfway line, and I've never sat in such comfy seats, but it's still 50 quid of silent misery. I grin when Arsenal showboat on their second penalty and end up forgetting to take it. Still 1-0 to the Arsenal, though.

At last a moment of magic. Brilliant cross-field pass, even better cross from Joey Barton, little Darius Vassell leaps like a dolphin to power a header into the corner of the net. I remember not to cheer, but clench my fist triumphantly under the seat. Needn't have bothered. The referee rules it out for offside.