Usmanov, that wobbly-jawed, walking Rouble, first came to most Gooners attention in 2007. This was the year he breached the previously impenetrable group of shareholders. The people who technically owned our club were part of an illustrious group that still held the values of Arsenal aloft to the rest and showed that a successful team could still be maintained without a major foreign-investor. The dusty, mahogany-filled boardroom, much like Ron Burgundys house, was an example to all clubs. It was serene, untouched, untroubled. Fans never really had cause for concern in that regard. We were in fact, proud that the traditional values were still in place. Until 2007.

In the early days of social networking, my attempts to integrate with the indigenous fauna were laughable.  I had tweets regarding biscuits, work dross and morose bobbins.  Mostly though, I was on a warpath with morons who were bastardizing the English written word.  The Queens English being repeatedly punched full force in the face, like Dale Winton Vs Mike Tyson in his pomp.  I took to the cyber-streets, criticizing unwanted abbreviations and giving typed lashings to vagabonds who fell into the snare of internet-speak.  ROFLMAO my f*cking ballbag.