The morning of Friday, 11th August, broke with a nervous, electric energy. This was it. The final day before the war began.
Tomorrow, Stoke City would arrive at Selhurst Park for the opening match of the 2017/18 Premier League season, and twenty-five thousand people would be watching to see if the miracle of last spring had been a fluke or a foundation. And today, in the boardroom at the training ground, my future would be decided.
I drove to Beckenham in a state of suspended animation, the London traffic a meaningless blur of brake lights and bus lanes.
My mind was a split screen.
