Well this Champions League business is turning out to be cracking fun. Never mind the tube strike, I think most of us floated home aboard Cloud 9 last night.

White Hart Lane's finest hour? Those who watched Danny Blanchflower lift the League title back in the spring of ‘61 might beg to differ, and by all accounts the UEFA Cup Final win of '84 was one heck of a night, but the denizens of AANP Towers have been up all night carefully weaving a blow-by-blow account of last night's fun into the tapestry of The Most Blinking Marvellous Tottenham Moments of All Time.

‘Arry has been banging on about the triffic opportunity tonight's game presents, and he has a point – for without Gerrard and Torres that lot suffer from a lack of both confidence and quality; while clean sheets a-plenty have underpinned some pretty decent recent performances from our heroes. Off the top of my head I can't actually remember the last time we ever won in the League at Anfield, but having caught snatches of their game against Reading in the Cup last week the place looks more like a wendy-house than a fortress at the moment.

Team selection was never really an issue when we were banging them in left, right and centre and the side picked itself, but times are a-changing. While annus horribilis is probably a bit strong, our form since the turn of the year has been worrying, reflected not only by poor results and sloppy performances but now scrutiny of the line-up.

Well that could have been a lot worse. Having taken a few deep breaths and poured myself a stiff drink prior to kick-off, proceedings began in precisely the depressing manner expected. I suspect there is not one soul in Christendom surprised by our early struggles in the face of perennial tormentor Kevin Davies, as well as the stream of set-piece deliveries.

A theory doing the rounds in some quarters is that the crunch games in our push for fourth is not the quartet against the big boys (Man Utd-l'Arse-Chelski-City) but the four against the less glamorous mob – Pompey, Sunderland, Burnley and Bolton. Anything less than three points against each of this lot, so goes the theory, and we really will throw away fourth spot.

Well we had better get cracking with the inquest then. The slew of instant reactions I have overheard in the couple of hours since meltdown have included "Sack Harry"; "Sell Crouch"; "Recall Keane"; and even "Get Jenas back in the team". Okay, I made up that last one, but some of the opinions ventured do seem possibly to have been delivered a tad hastily.

That's more like it. Six points from two tricky fixtures and we now sit level on points with l'Arse and Man Utd. Admittely ours has been a fairly gentle fixture-list to date, but given our struggles to juggle Premiership and Champions League I'm quite grateful for what he have.

This Week's VDV Magic

Having bossed games in recent weeks this was a relatively mundane showing from Van der Vaart, but when you hail from Amazingville then even your mundane showings are sprinkled with magnificence, and so it was that VDV's quiet day still brought about the game's best piece of skill and a game-changing moment.

Blessed relief. With the 4-4-2 formation, flowing pass-and-move stuff and hatful of chances throughout this was vaguely akin to the glory glory days of way back in season 2009-10. Seeing Paul Robinson look on forlornly as the ball crashed repeatedly into the net really did give the afternoon a retro feel, but after our recent run of form the priority was three points in any manner possible, and they have accordingly been lapped up most gleefully around these parts.

A penny for ‘Arry's thoughts, ahead of the Third Round of the Cup. Not the predictable dross with which he closes his little team-news spiel on the club's official website – "Hopefully we'll turn in another terrific performance" – but rather his sentiments regarding a successful Cup run and, say, a Quarter-Final replay, or Semi-Final date in April, adding a spot of fixture congestion at a time when we, presumably, will be making a final push for the top four.

What ho. It's been a while, hasn't it – in fact we haven't had a league game this decade. When we last wandered these parts our glorious heroes had gone into overdrive – four wins in five, clean sheet after clean sheet and plenty of attacking brio. A pessimist might bemoan the fact that the wintry interlude has rudely interrupted the momentum that had been gathering; but Hull at home presents an excellent opportunity to pick up where we left off.

(Yes yes, it's about a year late. Sorry. Finishing touches being applied to the opus Spurs' Cult Heroes)

It appears that "Just one of those days" is lined up to become ‘Arry's Triffic Phrase of the Season 2009/10, following the success of "Two points, eight games" last year. The official company line at least appears to be that the blank drawn against Hull is not something about which to get too worked up, and in a sense one can appreciate the point – we may not have been at our fluid best, but Gomes spent most of the game in smoking-jacket and slippers, puffing contentedly on cigar and squinting down the far end of the pitch.

We at AANP Towers are firm proponents of the dying art of chivalry, always happy to whip off the jacket and place it over a puddle for a lady to walk across, or leap into a burning building to save a one-armed orphan; but once on the football pitch I would positively encourage our lot to dispense with the p's and q's, and instead adopt all the airs and graces of a gaggle of behooded youths at a train station.

Curiouser and curiouser. You think you've seen it all at the Lane, you brace yourself for the worst – and are then treated to a completely serene, straightforward, almost routine home win, as far removed from the All-Action-No-Plot mentality as is possible.

It Was The Midfield What Won It

Ledley and Daws were generally rock-solid (the latter a little excitable, in his unique, loveable way) and at the other end Defoe barely touched the ball; but in the middle we held the upper hand, player-for-player and as a unit.

Apologies for the radio silence, been sunning myself in the land of Adel Taarabt and Noureddine Naybet over the last few days. Therefore, if you want a blow-by-blow analysis of this game, look elsewhere – as indeed I'm sure you have done, at some point since Saturday afternoon.

Premiership goings-on are not top of the agenda in Morocco, but I did eventually ascertain the outcome of this one.

Frustrating stuff. A couple of months ago I was fairly sanguine about points dropped at home, reasoning with sage, Yoda-like calm that as long as we kept playing well the goals and wins would eventually follow. Never folk to take decisive action if we could get away with thrusting our heads into the sand and waiting, we at AANP Towers reasoned that there was no need to panic - the problem would take care of itself.

On the back of yet another ten-man shut-out, the prospect of Wolves tonight hardly has the AANP heart leaping in unbounded joy. Wolves boss Mick McCarthy earlier this season threw in the towel in one fixture, by resting his entire team, in order to save their juices for a more winnable fixture a couple of days later.

Oh dear. Going down all guns blazing, with seventeen shots on target and against a goalkeeper possessed by the spirit of Jennings is one thing; being outplayed by a side in the relegation zone is another. We actually started relatively well, with some slick passing all round, and Bentley looking a good bet for general mischief on the right.

The response to our current blip has included a vitriolic chorus from some quarters for the sacking of ‘Arry. Having dragged us from the relegation zone to contention for the top-four – via Wembley – in little over a year, it seems a slightly disproportionate reaction, but defeat in the Cup today would not go down well amongst already restless natives.

Just picking an entirely arbitrary number, it's AANP's (by no means exhaustive) nine-point wish-list for this afternoon's trip to Wigan...

1. Same Old Same Old From Gomes
Watching l'Arse goalkeeper Lucas Fabianski pass his Three Stooges audition with flying colours this week gave a pleasant reminder that, for all our problems at the other end, between the sticks we are well-blessed.

Well we can postpone work on those "Sack ‘Arry" placards for the time-being at least. With a maturity that even they themselves probably did not realise they possessed our heroes adapted to the conditions better than the other lot, made better chances and saw out the game with consummate professionalism.

It's a chipper and optimistic AANP that will go traipsing along the High Road tonight. While it is too early to bleat on about our name being on the Cup, having done the hard part of emerging unscathed from the Reebok stadium our name really ought to be in the Quarter-Final draw without too many alarms.

As I'm away for the weekend, thought I'd post the Spurs-Everton preview nice and early...

Confusion hath made its masterpiece here at AANP Towers. Are we back on track, or is this just a fleeting break from the woes of 2010? Sunday's game should help clarify a situation that has become rather confusing for legions of bandwagon-jumpers.

Strangely nervous ahead of this one, precisely because we are such overwhelming favourites. We at AANP Towers would happily trade all of the following for three points, in any way or form, but as I idle away the final minutes of the day-job, the following notions float to mind...

A Dull Home Win

The list of Games-To-Rue-Come-May is far too long already; let's not add to it, eh chaps?

Boy: Viene la tormenta
Sarah Connor: What did he just say?
Attendant: He said there's a storm coming.
Sarah Connor: I know.

She wasn't wrong either. There's a storm coming alright – no less than L'Arse, Chelski and Man Utd, as well as Man City away in the final week of the season.

It could still all go horribly wrong, but for the moment at least our lot continue to make all the right moves. The threatened second half implosion did not materialise, and instead, after a fourth consecutive League win, we now have to come to terms with the fact that our glorious heroes have discovered some consistency, of all things.

Fourth place or the FA Cup? AANP suspects we'll manage one or t'other, but the chaps scuttling around the turf each week seem to have the right idea, by prioritising victory one 90 minutes at a time, irrespective of the competition.

Merrily we can gloss over it now, but by golly in the first half we were outplayed.

Never mind the theory that Peter Crouch Can Do Anything – the 2010 product is Gareth Bale. When he sets off on a gallop down the left the world is his oyster. He has within his armoury the capacity to outpace just about any opponent slower than Usain Bolt; play an intelligent, 10-yard diagonal ball infield; or whip in a peach of a cross, as demonstrated for the opener yesterday.

Not exactly sure what the lyrics are to the Champions League anthem (the telly-box at AANP Towers can only ever pick up unspecifiable high-pitched warbling, until that final chorus of "The Chaaaaaampions") but while watching this midweek's shenanigans, AANP dreamt the dream – the dream that next season I would not just try to fathom the lyrics from the comfort of my living-room, but actually at the Lane.

And so begins our biggest week since the last great big important week we had. Two wins from the upcoming three games? The feeling here at AANP Towers is that we're certainly capable of winning at least one of the two home games against l'Arse and Chelski, and with one Aaron Lennon due for return at some point this week this really could tee us up for a ruddy marvellous finale to the season.

Well ‘Arry reckons everything is tickety-boo in the Tottenham camp after the Sunday afternoon nightmare. No-one tired, no-one too depressed - just one big, happy, upbeat family. Marvellous. Here at AANP Towers we have been moping around with the air of those who have just had the will to live sucked from their being.

Writing off our chances at Old Trafford is something of an annual tradition here at AANP Towers. It was generally a pretty painless arrangement, and one to which I suspect many a long-suffering Spurs fan could relate – I would go into the game with what could at best be described as a spirit of defiant optimism, duly return empty-handed (albeit occasionally with a tale of indignant injustice to relate) and the following week would roll on.

Watching a game on a pub's big screen I typically squint to make out the match clock in the top left-hand corner, a sure sign that my eyes are failing me. My hindsight however, remains 20-20, thus allowing me to tut and cluck all weekend about the wisdom – or lack thereof – of shuffling the winning pack in order to accommodate the returning Sergeant Wilson.

Why do they toy with us so? This whole business of wingers who can zip across the turf at twice the speed of light is all well and good if the counter-attacks lead to a glut of goals, but, as against Chelski a couple of weeks ago, our glorious heroes seemed determined to avoid making the game safe – anyone else get the impression that Gudjohnsen quite deliberately placed that last-minute shot at the advertising hoarding rather than the net?

"It's not the despair, I can take the despair; it's the hope that kills me..."

As a long-time Spurs-supporting chum put it to me yesterday, we're not built for this sort of thing. Let-downs and heartbreaks we can deal with, but this business of every single blasted game coming loaded with significance is just too much to take.

"If you can meet with triumph and disaster, and treat those two imposters just the same..."

So said the cake-making chap, but I make no apologies for the fact that I treat the two rather differently. Almost every Spurs-supporting day of my life has been spent meeting with disaster – cursing or stomping, or at the very least shrugging philosophically.

What ho! A most warm welcome back to AANP Towers (which, if particularly eagle-eyed, you may notice has had a lick of paint since last time out). Apologies for the radio silence of recent months, but after a full season of blogging, plus one book (still sitting pretty in the Amazon shop window, yonder) a brief hibernation seemed appropriate.

What ho! A most warm welcome back to AANP Towers (which, if particularly eagle-eyed, you may notice has had a lick of paint since last time out). Apologies for the radio silence of recent months, but after a full season of blogging, plus one book (still sitting pretty in the Amazon shop window, yonder) a brief hibernation seemed appropriate.

Off and running anew then, but in various senses it was if the old season had never finished. The personnel all looked pretty familiar for a start, the sumptuous brand of football rolled out brought back sepia-tinged memories of the finer moments of season 2009/10 - and alas the profligacy of old also made an unwelcome return.

Ah, Champions League Tuesday. I could get used to this...

Admittedly it's only the qualifier, but this is still Europe's premier club competition. That music still blares out at the start, and the nifty, starry football logo is still sewn into the shirt sleeves. After all these years of hurt it feels like Moses finally making it to the promised land (if the Israel of biblical times were full of the best footballers in the world, and plastered with obscenely-priced advertising hoardings, and admittedly if Moses hadn't died just beforehand).

Well first of all, a history lesson: in our first ever European Cup tie, back in 1962, Blanchflower, Mackay et al travelled to Poland to play Gornik, under the auspices of Bill Nick, and promptly found themselves 4-0 down at half-time, before scoring two late goals. Back at the Lane in the return leg we won 8-1.