Sam Allardyce was blowing bubbles of joy as he celebrated his first victory as West Ham boss, but there was a sense of relief at the final whistle after the Hammers survived a late onslaught from the home side. "Doncaster threw everything at us towards the finish but I was well pleased with the resilience of our defence," admitted Allardyce.

We're winning away,
We're winning away,
How shit must you be?
We're winning away!
It may be to damn them with faint praise, but West Ham finally look as though they have arrived in this division. The early-season rust is clearing; new faces are becoming accustomed to their surroundings; disappointment is gradually morphing into determination.

Of all the places in England, Canary Wharf is perhaps the last one you might expect Sam Allardyce, "Big Sam" himself, to have made his home, three months shy of his 57th birthday. He loves it there especially, he says, his apartment, where a straight-talking Black Country lad who made his name in Lancashire lives next door to investment bankers.

A good speech is a wonderful thing. It has the capacity to inspire, to lift your spirits, to make your soul soar above the mundane minutae that obfuscates everyday existence. Unfortunately, noted Churchill, there are only two things more difficult than making an effective one: climbing a wall which is leaning toward you and kissing a girl who is leaning away from you.