Good day to you, readers.

This morning I awoke like a kicked dog, and immediately a modest smile cracked the fatigue from my somnolent visage. Today, my random readership, is no ordinary day! Today the Sheikhs are honoured to play the hallowed turf of Wembley Stadium.

Shall we be dressed in knee length and vented schoolboy attire? NO! NO! And thrice NO! The Sheikhs are perpetually dressed for song and we shall be wearing our customary black outfits with black shoes and black undergarments.

Shall we kick an inflated bladder across scissor trimmed sward? NO! We shall most certainly not! Our physical frames are, like our instruments, valuable antiques and could not possibly withstand the rigours of sport.

Shall we be deafened by the tribal and glorious roar of the crowd, spurned on to even greater heights of strength and heroism? Probably not, as we shall be safe in the civilized confines of the Members’ Lounge.

ah … the Members’ Lounge.

Far from the grim reality of drizzle and the existential misery of plastic tiered seating.

Far from the barbarous chants regarding the referee’s family line or the proclavities of the players.

Close to the generous bosom of the cocktail bar, the salted snacks and the plush carpet, so forgiving in its welcome of the weary inebriant’s cheek.

Close to the baffling sophistication of 21st century toilets and the robotic dependability of the mall environment.

Close to the authority of architecture and design that says, in confident tones

“We have conquered the elements.

We have tamed the beasts and harnessed the very earth.

We are modern man.

There is celery for the Bloody Mary.”

One could say that I was bending the truth somewhat when I proclaimed that the Sheikhs are playing the ‘hallowed turf of Wembley Stadium’.

Nonetheless, Wembley, here we come.