And so, on Tuesday evening, we all settled down to watch Great Expectations. There'd been a lot of hype in the build-up and plenty of stars were on show, and yet the feeling persisted that it might turn out to be a horrible disappointment.
In the end though, it was rather good, wasn't it? Gillian Anderson lacks genuine pace, admittedly, but Brad Friedel made an excellent Magwitch and as for Luka as young Pip... No, hang on, I'm confusing myself now.
The point is, we played as big a game as Norwich away on a Tuesday night can ever be at exactly same time as the BBC was showing episode one of its splendid adaptation of Great Expectations. And goodness, what larks!
The stage was set by Arsenal, Chelsea, Liverpool and City all getting disappointing (by which I mean hilarious) draws.
Initially it seemed we might fluff our lines (Jesus this theatrical analogy's becoming as tortuous as one of Paul Merson's updates on Gillette Soccer Saturday: 'There's been an offside corner on the halfway line Geoff and he's skied it all the way along the ground and straight into the goalkeeper's corner. 1-0'), but eventually pressure, persistence and sheer class paid off. It was, goddammit, comfortable. Impressive, even.
Especially Bale, our leading man. He is obviously some sort of God, hewn in Welsh valleys from iron and fire and sent over the border to carry Spurs to greatness. But, sharpen up those celebrations, boyo. That camp Morecambe and Wise one he does with Ade? Nah, I'm not having it, Geoff, as 'Merse' would drunkenly grunt. And as for all that shouting and gurning last night? It's not that I'm not having it, I just don't get it. And neither, clearly, did a visibly concerned Kyle Walker.
Apart from that, just keep on keeping on. Same goes for everyone, really. In fact, to ham-fistedly round this Dickensian special off in suitable style: Please, sir Harry, can I have some more?