It has long been a given in my life that Aston Villa, the football team I “support”, is mediocre—not completely rubbish, not great, just financially secure and chronically underachieving. The man widely believed to be responsible for this long-running dullness, the club’s chairman “Deadly” Doug Ellis, has now agreed he will “step down” and allow the club to be taken over by an American billionaire with the soap opera name of Randy Lerner, although I won’t believe this until a metaphorical wooden stake has been driven through Ellis’s heart and his metaphorical body has exploded in a crimson bloom of Hollywood pyrotechnics, showering the Holte End in still-glittering particles of metaphorical ash.

The problem now is that there is a real possibility that Villa might become good, good enough for me to pay money to see them play, good enough for me no longer to be able to make jokes at their expense, perhaps even good enough for fans of other sides to hate me. To avoid these unpleasant consequences then, I might have to downgrade my football terrace alert level from “low” to “undead”.