In truth, despite the improvement in effort and organisation, Charlton never looked close to causing an upset, but although a 3-0 scoreline is never welcome, it is perhaps far better than some predicted beforehand.
Fears of a rugby-like scoreline eased as a surprisingly lacklustre Spurs struggled to find rhythm in the first half (to Charlton's credit, in part). In the end, it took the introduction of the cultured midfielder, Luka Modric, to kick Spurs up through the gears to what in the end was a comfortable victory. Rather predictably Defoe scored against us again: when will we learn to stop booing him and providing all the incentive a man ever needs to stick the preverbal two fingers up in retaliation?
I spent the whole day in the company of my Spurs supporting Brother-In-Law, watching the game from the opposite end of the stadium to the impressive sounding travelling Addicks who had turned out in vast numbers. How I wished I was with them as they created an impressive wall of noise bellowing out of the South Stand. What a shame they never had a consolation goal to cheer: I, of course, wouldn't have been able to do so!
It was certainly a very different matchday experience to the one I'm normally used to. We kicked things off with a spot of lunch in a pleasant Turkish restaurant close to the ground. A few pints either side of the game was made possible by the rarity of travelling to the game by train. It was enjoyable enough but the Chas & Dave medley in the Bill Nicholson Pub in Northumberland Park post match began to grate on me very quickly and I headed for home where sausage, mash and onion gravy awaited my return.
As I walked home from the train station I couldn't help but lament of better times in the not to distant past when a visit to The Lane wouldn't have seemed such a big thing.
But how pleasant it was to have hot running water to wash your hands in the gents toilets inside White Heart Lane. Bloody fancy Premiership bastards!!!