Monday

"GLORY, glory, Man-u-NII-tid," sang the alarm clock (available in all good megastores), so loud it scattered the early morning birds chilling out while digesting their worms on the clothes-line outside the window. Leapt out of bed, throwing David Beckham duvet cover on to official Manchester United bedroom carpet. Turned on official Manchester United bedside lamp, stepped in to official Manchester United slippers and threw on official Manchester United dressing gown. Pulled back official Manchester United curtains and looked out window. Lovely morning. Cloudless sky. Sun shining. It felt good to be alive.

Then. Suddenly. Remembered. Stamford. Bridge. Nil-One. Nil-Two. Nil-Three. Nil-Four. And Nil-Five. Sick feeling in tummy. Quivering lower lip. Thought of smirk on face of Chelsea-supporting pal. Will to live? Lost. Back to? Bed. Rang work. "I won't make it in today - I think it's serious: stomach cramps, tension headaches, depression, dodgy goalkeeper." "Mmm, funny that - all 27 Manchester United-supporting members of our work force rang in to report the very same bug, but our 43 ABUs have arrived early, hale and hearty and grinning like they'd just won the National Lottery. No problem though, you'd be no use to me today anyway, so you needn't come in 'till tomorrow - and you can come in late if you like." "Really! That's damned decent of you - what time?" "Ooooh, five past Taibi. Ho, ho, ho." Back to bed. Tossed and turned. Kept seeing Italian goalkeeper (cost: £4.5 million) stranded in no-man's land, doing a mighty David James impression. Scary.

"Schmeichel! Come back! We miss you! Keano! Even with a crutch you'd be more useful than Nicky 'ooh, Wisey has pinched me on the thigh so I'll knee him right in front of the ref, get myself sent off and reduce my already strugglin' team to 10 men, thereby guaranteeing that they'll be even more humiliated by these West London fancy boys than they'd have been if I'd stayed on the field in the first place' Butt." Got up. Checked answering machine. Thirty-three messages. "Chuckle, chuckle, gloat, gloat, you're not singing anymore . . . five? Count 'em," said all 33. Back to bed. Difficult to sleep. Tears on pillow created deafening squelching sound with every toss and turn.

Tuesday

Stayed in bed all day. Lost job. Didn't care. More to life than work. Like competent goalkeepers.

Wednesday

Chirpy Everton fan made contact. Important question for him. "Your old goalie, 93-year-old Neville Southall, he's at Torquay now, isn't he?"

"Affirmative."

"Well, d'you think he'd fancy a move to Old Trafford?"

"No chance - he wants to win things this season."

Thursday

Taibi breaks his silence. Talks to press. "I'm not affected by the criticism - I don't believe my form over my four matches has been that bad," he says. (This means he thinks he can get worse).

"I have only played four games, not 25, and it is too early to pass judgment," he says. (No, it's not).

"I am sorry we lost but, as far as I am concerned, I am satisfied," he says. (Satisfied? Christ).

"I am not affected by the controversy in the press. Morale is high, the players are behind me," he says. (Well, naturally they're behind you when you spend much of your time trying to cut out crosses on the halfway line). Wake up to discover Sir Alexander the Ferguson has got off on a motoring offence because he had diarrhoea. "This One Will Run And Run," says the Guardian's headline on the story. "Loo lucky lad Fergie," says the Star. "Reigning cramps," says The Daily Mirror. "Sure, Fergie was always full of . . .," starts an Arsenal acquaintance before he's interrupted. Can the week get any worse?

Yesterday

Oh yes, it can. Martin Edwards has sold off a bunch of his shares for zillions and zillions of pounds and is all set to become chairman of the plc - this means Sir Alexander will have a maximum of £12.62 to spend on new players over the next three seasons and that Roy Keane will be offered a Snickers bar and two cans of Pepsi to stay at Manchester United. Which means he won't.

Today

Played the official `Treble' video over and over for 16 consecutive hours as a gentle reminder of the happy days. Spoke to positive-thinking United fan and felt the better for it afterwards. His conclusions: normal service will be resumed so long as:

(a) Keane returns from injury yesterday;

(b) United find a goalkeeper who will stop their supporters from reminiscing fondly about Jim Leighton's performance in the drawn 1990 FA Cup final against Crystal Palace;

(c) Phil Neville retires to run a pub;

(d) Mickhael Silvestre realises attempting to nutmeg oncoming attackers is not a good idea;

(e) Nicky Butt joins Oldham;

(f) Paul Scholes stops trying to imitate Nicky Butt by kicking opponents;

(g) David Beckham stops attending London fashion shows on the eve of important games;

(h) Henning Berg stops scoring for the opposition;

(i) Jaap Stam is taught Italian so he can warn Massimo Taibi to keep his legs closed;

(j) Spurs stop laughing at United's derisory offers for Sol Campbell and agree to hand him over;

(k) Ryan Giggs is asked "any chance of you playing a few games this season?