You may have noticed that my posts have become slightly less prolific over the last few weeks. This is partly down to being away on vacation crammed into a small moving house with the three females in my family. But in all honesty it's mainly because Crystal Palace suck. Each week I start to write then find myself unintentionally scrapping my blood filled inner wrist wildly across the pathetically blunt edge of my iPad. Sadly all is in vein. My inability to see this through equates rather conveniently to the Eagles incapacity to win a game. We are the only professional team in the whole of Europe to fail to win a game in 2016. We have gone from fifth of twenty in the league to 16th, perilously close to the bottom three relegation positions. I can imagine asexual Roman eunuchs covered with ginger body hair bearing more firepower than us right now.

This Saturday's game sees us battle with the team in 17th and is being touted as the relegation decider. If we lose this there is a good chance that we will go down a division, lose millions in TV money, never again appear on American TV because they only care about the top tier. And of course officially become crap.

You may be thinking that come 9am Saturday I will be cowering in a dusty tent miles from anyone who may be able to mock me for my Eagle love. But no. I shall be covered in red and blue. Shouting loudly. Pushing aside my foes. And cheering as we finally score more goals than the other team.

Come on you Eagles

On a lighter note, family Wood just returned from the cold and rainy shores of England and my kiddos got to visit the hallowed turf of our heroes back in South London. I had pictured this moment since the birth of Wilma. I would hold aloft my magic child and say "by the power of Selhurst Park, I have the power". Both children would be overwhelmed by emotion and love for the Eagles and immediately pledge their undying commitment to the club. They would learn every player's name and eventually help me write my blog in tough times by stroking my back and telling me they love me and Palace. Sadly, Wilma cowered behind my back during every photograph and Frida tripped scrapping her knee causing her to scream for the remainder of our visit to the ground. Please witness my joy below.

Come down to Fado Saturday at 9am to cheer and jump around or at the very least stroke my back and tell me you love me when we lose.