down a peg or two.

A rocking, noisy ground with no fúcking japanese tourists taking pictures of you if shout something.

No unmentionable tossers spending the whole match with their iPhones aloft.

No hordes a fat ****s heading for pie 10 minutes before half time and returning to their seats ten minutes after half time still munching on said pie.

No post '96 JCL, Nick Hornby wannabes earnestly applauding absolutely everything.

No Smashy cum Nicey DJ bellowing anodyne tosh at 200 decibels to deliberately kill any kind of authentic football atmosphere and keep everything 'nice'.

However, the seats were really just too uncomfortable (no soft armrests d'ya see?).

Oh, and the football was quite simply agricultural and devoid of pace. With about five minutes to go I pointed to a particular QPR specimen who was moving as if he'd recently had both hips replaced and commented to my mate that the poor fellow had clearly given his all for the cause and could now hardly move.

"Matt Smith? - only been on five minutes, he scored the goal!" says my mate "and that's just how he is - he can't run - just ambles around and heads the odd goal in."