But not for us. We're in the playoffs, and we've got Crystal Palace, while Watford go to Hull. The winners play each other at Wembley in a couple of weeks. I'll keep you posted, although I'm moving this weekend, so don't go expecting epics.

It's all been enough to earn Gary Johnson, henceforth known as Gary Johnson (we love him), a profile in the Observer (Fanfare for people's man fashioning a Bristol boom). I'd like to become the first manager to go from the Conference up to the Premiership through promotions, albeit with two different clubs, and hopefully we're four games away from that, he says. He's too modest to mention it, but that would be four promotions in six years, two with City and two with Yeovil. When you think of the mess he inherited in his first year at City, when the team was bottom of League 1 at Christmas, that's an even more remarkable achievement.

Before that, he was manager of Latvia. He's still honorary president of the Latvian Football Association, so when we say we love him, we means everyone with any connection with City no matter how tenuous, plus a whole country.

And for the first time in ages, we played really well on Saturday, beating Preston 3-0. This kind of thing never happens. We never score three. We never take the lead then kick on, we take the lead and fall back to hold on to our gains. We never shoot from distance, we certainly never score from distance and we never play with such flair and élan.

The much maligned Lee Trundle is showing the kind of form he's never showed for us before, and David Noble scored the kind of free kick we never score from. For the second goal, Trundle and Michael McIndoe managed a neat little one-two in the opponents' penalty area. Even in the kind of game where things that never happen happen, this is unprecedented.

In other news, it's St George's Day in Bulgaria. I don't think they'd be keen to learn he was Turkish either.

In more recent yet even less important news, I've just found a letter on the doormat. An apology, it's headed, and there's a Royal Mail logo on it.

If they've started apologising, it's hard to know when they could ever stop. I open it. I know you didn't ask me to write to you.[...] You're probably just thinking "oh dear, not another charity asking me for money". If that's the case, then I'm sorry. [...] the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.

They've touched my heart, with their diffident approach. I shall write to them immediately, and forgive them.

On a less wholesome note, here's Bug Girl. Not her, she's a constant delight, but the subjects of her post, I have pubic lice in my mailbox. If that sounds like a euphemism, it isn't, she says, and we all breathe a sigh of relief for her. Until we read the piece, and begin to worry about the world instead.

And just to make up for my little tease, this is the website of the NSPCC. Give them some money, they do good stuff.

You probably won't hear from me again until I'm in Totterdown. It's a fifteen minute walk and a whole world away. Can't wait.