Sorry. Sorry for not doing my article last week. If you were disappointed then I know how you feel, I used to be terribly upset when Jon Ronson's column failed to appear in the Weekend magazine supplement that accompanies this very paper, on one occasion bothering to text him to personally berate him for his absence.
It's not that Tim Dowling, the fella they got in to replace him wasn't any good it's just I felt, and in fact feel, a strong sense of identification with Jon's writing especially when he scribbles from the core of his incessant embarrassment and uses his column to score points in domestic clashes. I still miss his contributions and now only look at Weekend at all because of Dave Shrigley's cartoon - if he leaves I shall simply leave Weekend untouched like the detested Jobs and Money section, too boring even to line the cat's litter tray - he'd become constipated rather than defecate on all those tedious career opportunities.
When Jose Mourinho left Chelsea he did it in the certain knowledge that he, like Ronson, was irreplaceable. It would've required a manager with the looks of George Clooney, the brain of Richard Dawkins and the charisma of Charles Manson to assuage the sentimental tumult inspired by his departure. I do not like Chelsea but I was sad to see him leave and I think that I exemplify a common phenomenon in my admission that I put aside my disdain for the Blues whilst he was at the club. He made Chelsea palatable.
Figuratively the scenario is reminiscent of a girl I once dated who had an atrocious personality (cruel, racist, joyless) but a really nice arse. She was like her own arse's irritating best mate - I had to tolerate her to get to the arse. The arse in its spellbinding beauty made her many flaws tolerable - she later revealed she'd only gone out with me because she liked my cat so don't feel too sorry for her.
Mourinho was like that girl's beautiful arse - while he was at Chelsea few cared that they played stifling football for a humourless billionaire, we were too busy ogling the arse. Now that gorgeous set of buns has been replaced by the saggy rump that is Avram Grant no one gives a monkey's that the results are quite impressive, we still mourn the departure of the tanned hide of the Special One - "I hate it that you're leaving but, boy, do I love to watch you walking away."
I hear that some regulars at the Bridge would prefer Chelsea to be knocked out of the Champions League and to drop out of the title race just to be rid of Grant. Astonishing. As he himself pointed out, who would've thought when Mourinho wiggled off that Grant would still be in the running for major honours this late on in the season?
One suspects that Chelsea will win nothing, naturally. That United will wrap up the title in the next few games and that Liverpool will bounce them out of Europe but none of this matters to Roman Abramovich, who is apparently poised to give Grant a hundred million to reinforce his squad over the summer.
What's going on? Why does that seem so absurd? Why are we so unwilling to accredit Grant? I've a friend who's a season ticket holder in SW6 who swears blind that during matches Steve Clarke and Henk Ten Cate conduct tactical powwows, literally, behind Grant's back as if snogging out of sight of an unwanted chaperone. Players are breaking ranks to announce to the press that they never would've joined the club to play for him and more childishly that they call him "the professor"; not in the way Arsène Wenger is called "the professor" - affectionately, because of his keen, tactical mind - but because they think he is a right dickhead. A dickhead professor who no one likes.
Didier Drogba is said to be leaving, only delaying his decision on destination until old sweet cheeks has picked a club, and many more, reportedly, will follow. Quentin Crisp said, "Charisma is the ability to influence without logic", and this is the key to Grant's problem - he can do all the publicity he likes or sit through a press conference issuing only yes or no answers but he'll never manipulate the manner in which he's perceived because he cannot make us put aside logic in the way that Mourinho could. The only thing I can remember from all the press I've read about Grant is that his wife once drank urine on an Israeli TV show. It's gonna take a lot more than that.

First published in The Guardian, 19th April