Well it got quite messy there didn't it? Nan is a gran of his word: I said I'd stop if the points weren't delivered and I did. So what's all this you may ask?

Here's the thing, they wanted Nan back so badly that the big boss had a bust up with the money men, ran off to an unknown tax haven and set up a new blog. So I've checked all the contracts and talked to my legal people and they've confirmed that I can comment on the new venture without going back on my deal.

At the moment it appears that a lot of the knobbers have been unable to locate Damian's new little paradise so it all feels rather fresh and reminds Nan of the good old days. Long may this last.

It will also be fun to see if OleOle continue to host my blog on Damian's new blog. We shall see.

For now, it is good to be back.

Sir Martin O'Neill  said it was his hardest decision to date.

This is mine.

I refuse to entertain the negativity that will cascade down upon our little Blogworld if we are beaten by the mighty Stoke.

If our leader is big enough and brave enough, then so is Nan.

Heroic Villains deliver 3 points.

Or this ends.

BLACK KNIGHT:  None shall pass. (MotD early season pundits - expert analysis)

ARTHUR:  What?

BLACK KNIGHT: None shall pass.

ARTHUR: I have no quarrel with you, brave Sir knight, but I must cross this bridge.

BLACK KNIGHT: Then you shall die.

ARTHUR: I command you, as King of the Britons to stand aside.  (Is this MON speaking? No he keeps his own counsel)

BLACK KNIGHT: I move for no man. (Oh that's good coming from a frenchman!)

ARTHUR: So be it!

(Arthur draws his sword and approaches the Black Knight. A furious fight now starts lasting about fifteen seconds at which point Arthur delivers a mighty blow which completely severs the Knight's left arm at the shoulder. Arthur steps back triumphantly.) (Villa beat Arsenal)

ARTHUR: Now stand aside worthy adversary. (Always polite see, even in victory)

BLACK KNIGHT: (Glancing at his shoulder) 'Tis but a scratch. (Wenger, Hanson and the Whingers?)

ARTHUR: A scratch? Your arm's off.

BLACK KNIGHT: No, it isn't.

ARTHUR: (Pointing to the arm on ground) Well, what's that then?

BLACK KNIGHT: I've had worse.

ARTHUR: You're a liar.

BLACK KNIGHT: Come on you pansy!

(Another ten seconds furious fighting till Arthur chops the Black Knight's other arm off, also at the shoulder. The arm plus sword, lies on the ground.) (Another away victory)

ARTHUR: Victory is mine. (sinking to his knees) I thank thee O Lord that in thy ...

BLACK KNIGHT: Come on then.

ARTHUR: What?

(He kicks Arthur hard on the side of the helmet. Arthur gets up still holding his sword. The Black Knight comes after him kicking.)

ARTHUR: You are indeed brave Sir knight, but the fight is mine.

(Whingers complain about style of play. MotD show extended highlights of another 0-0 draw at the Emirates and 30 seconds of Villa)

BLACK KNIGHT: Had enough?

ARTHUR: You stupid bastard. You haven't got any arms left.

BLACK KNIGHT: Course I have.

ARTHUR: Look!

BLACK KNIGHT: What! Just a flesh wound. (kicks ARTHUR)

(I didn't see the game from where I was sitting - Wenger)

ARTHUR: Stop that.

BLACK KNIGHT: (kicking him) Had enough ... ?

ARTHUR: I'll have your leg. (He is kicked.) Right!

(The Black Knight kicks him again and Arthur chops his leg off. The Black Knight keeps his balance with difficulty.)

BLACK KNIGHT: I'll do you for that. (Another transfer window and MON signs JUST Heskey)

ARTHUR: You'll what ... ?

BLACK KNIGHT: Come Here.

ARTHUR: What are you going to do. bleed on me?

BLACK KNIGHT: I'm invincible!

ARTHUR: You're a looney. (taglor?)

BLACK KNIGHT: The Black Knight always triumphs. Have at you!

(Arthur takes his last leg off. The Black Knight's body lands upright.) (Villa set record of consecutive away victories while playing the best football of any team in the league)

BLACK KNIGHT: All right, we'll call it a draw. (MotD start calling it the Top 5, Whingers suggest that Villa have succeeded to a certain extent but should be winning the title?)

ARTHUR: Come, Patsy. (Arthur and Patsy start to cross the bridge.)

BLACK KNIGHT: Running away eh? You yellow bastard, Come back here and take what's coming to you. I'll bite your legs off!

.......Laursen's face etched granite-like with Villa passion.............

Barry, foot on ball....twisting, turning, striding away.........

..................................Curtis thrusting forward out of defence, weakened attackers trailing forlornly in his wake......

.............Big John powering in at the far post, defenders pretending to compete........

..................and Gabby.... gone....chest out, head back.....surely he can't...he's gone...past him....past him and into the roof of the net..

Big Brad hands outstretched, chest puffed out, none shall pass, a giant surveying his army...........

Milner......oh young Jimmy, running, chasing, harrying, tackling.....acres of space, striding away...........

Petrov spreading the ball, left to right, right to left..........my ball....my midfield.............

Luke Young surging down the line, exchanging passes and curling in the cross.

....................................Heskey.....chesting down.....players bouncing off him.... then turning and gone..............

But now for glorious Ashley..................our little boy, streaking away, this way, that way, evading lumpen footed neanderthals, dancing through to score.............

...............Villa Park heart beating, O'Neill leaping...fists pumping.......the force rising............................a beast emerging from sleep.

We all know that this jigsaw is coming together.

One day very soon, some poor bastards are going to get the hiding of their lives.

This is the rising.

The beginning.

Yes we can.

Well, well, well. Guess who sat next to me on the train the other day? He nipped out for a beer and left his diary on the table. I couldn't resist a peek. Once seen I had to share it with you.

I love the Aston Villa team of 2008/9. I love Martin O'Neill.

 But how do we love? Madly, deeply without a care for the pain of loss?

We must allow love to comsume us. We must wait next to the phone and lift the receiver only to return it to the cradle with dry lips. Our heart must soar at the sound of her voice across a crowded room. We clutch at her idly discarded scarf and drink in its scent. Any excuse will lead us past her house, imagining her curled and dreaming behind the closed door. And finally we walk beside her, hand in hand feeling sorry for mere mortals whom we pass. They will never know this heaven where we float, swoop and spin with the eagles.

Or we do we protect ourselves from the fire? Do we balance every joy with hard brained logic; her musical tastes suggest an infantile mind? She wears odd jeans. Some people may say her chin's a bit pointy. Then, when she fails to call, when we see her crossing the street with our best friend, we can smile and say, hey I knew, it's fine, I would have ended it anyway. Told you so!

 We've all been here before. We've all loved and lost. But love must be all consuming. We must allow love.

And then the pain.

 We must cherish this too. Let the endless tears fall, rage against the injustice, call upon the gods to strike you, or her, or all down. And finally swear in drunken lonelines that you will never again allow yourself to be burnt by the fire of love.

And then return.

Love is not love without ascending the highest peaks and drowning in its deepest, darkest depths.

And so fellow Villains, allow yourself to love fully.

When the title comes home to us, we will soar with the eagles and nobody will know love as we know it. And if our hearts are broken, we will weep as the world comes to an end.

Take off your armour and expose your heart.

Be consumed by the fire.

Yes we can.

Villa manager Martin O'Neill spoke to the world from his home city of Birmingham as he became the most unexpected winner of the Premier League title. Here is the full text of his victory speech:

"Hello, Britain.

"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that Aston is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our support, tonight is your answer.

"It's the answer told by lines that stretched around grounds in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voices could be that difference.

"It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, and brummie, Villains who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of whingers or sheep.

"We are, and always will be, Aston Villa Football Club.

"It's the answer that led those who've been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

"It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this season at this defining moment, change has come to football.

 Yes we can.

 The gaudy streamers hang limply from the ceiling. The music has stopped. The cold walls still echo yesterday's hopeful conversations. As I wander round each small brass topped table, fussing here with a folded crisp packet, there an upturned glass, all we have is memories...

For once Nan cannot finds the words but I know a man who can..............

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

Forum View,

AVFC Blog,

Interweb

19th December 2008

Dear All,

Well we can't believe that it is Forum family letter time of year again. It seems like only yesterday when we were all together for the marvellous occasion of the Transfer Window. I'm glad to say that Christmas 2008 arrives with all the Forum family in relatively good health. It has been another exciting year for us all as, I'm sure you all know.

We have all settled down after the chaos of the move. It was not easy and several family members were threatening to move back to the old place or even leave home altogether. I'm glad to report that this has not happenned and we are all growing used to the new place. It is much bigger and is fitted with some whizzy new gadgets that the kids love playing with.

Young Christo has been striving hard to reach his perfect union. He really does work very hard at it and I'm sure that one day all his endeavour will be rewarded. Meanwhile the cheeky little twins have been growing up very fast. They still get the odd rap over the knuckles but we're sure they will grow up to be mature and respectable young adults. Both are still having some difficulties in school with their writing but we hope they will grow out of this. The eldest boy, Dan, is still out in the states, we think he's been dabbling in politics and we're still unsure exactly what he does, but you know how he is, he likes to play his cards close to his chest.

Grandad Numbers is still going strong. He manages to get out of the house and wander in to town every now and then. He does sometimes have to be collected from Sainsbury's on a Saturday evening where he has been known to be quite troublesome with the old ladies.

Uncle Sam seems to be keeping his drinking under control. He does have a lot to worry about as his two eldest boys, Paul and Eddie can be quite abrasive individuals. Uncle Andy has been on his travels this year. He's never happier than when he is half way up a windswept mountain. He has mellowed with age, but still enjoys the odd heated debate.

Dad has retired after selling his business for a tidy sum. He has put his feet up for a while and is now wondering what to do next. He does have some irons in the fire but we'll have to wait and see.

Nan has her highs and lows. As you all may know she was attacked earlier in the year. This was rather upsetting for all the family but she seems to have recovered well enough.

Well that is about all from the Forums. I hope this letter finds you all well. May we wish you and your family a happy and peaceful Christmas and a propserous New Year (not much chance of that with the way this awful labour government are running things, but don't get Uncle Sam and his boys started on that.)

Hopefully we will all be able to meet up in May for the big event.

Kind regards

The Forum Family

I want a cold, bright winter's day for a game that seems to matter.

I want two traditional English teams, playing in an historic stadium.

I want wooden seats and a steaming meat and potato pie.

I want passionate knowledgeable fans engaged in banter and ceaseless singing.

I want desire on the pitch and early goals.

I want hard tackles and faces contorted with emotion on fan and player alike.

I want fighters that clamber to their feet after being dumped to the turf, eager to return to the battle.

I want angry cries from the terraces as they agonise over the same old faults.

I want last ditch defending and balls crashing into the posts.

I want unexpected gifts and occasional flashes of genius.

I want a goal in the dying moments, a goal that realises your worst fears, that carves a chasm in your chest and leaves you gasping for breath, unable already to deal with the pain of the dissection to follow.

Finally I want a miracle, a once in a lifetime, a moment that burns inside and brings tears to your eyes.

I want football. I want Everton v Aston Villa, Sunday 7th December 2008.