As Charlton Athletic get tossed about like a rag doll between a couple of rabid dogs desperate to wring out some unjust dirty money, today will forever be remembered as, well, that day.
My brother and I got a cab from his house in Stoke Newington to Paddington early on that Sunday morning. We were both jet-lagged and a little quiet as the driver attempted to make conversation.
The tube to Wembley Park was almost empty except for a few families of Sunderland fans, as friendly as always. We were still pretty sleepy when the sight of Wembley Way hit us like a rock. It was still morning, yet the surrounding areas of the stadium, were rammed in a sea of red and white.
We had gathered some friends and made our way uphill to the Green Man pub, which for the day was doing a very good impression of the Covered End. My son, his mates, our mates and other familiar faces arrived at the pub and the atmosphere and beer flowed.
However long before 2pm, it was time to descend the hill for my first ever glimpse inside of the new Wembley.
What followed was a truly memorable 94 + 5 minutes.