[Dulwich. Saturday. 09:48 BST.]
I woke up with three medals on my chest and only two of them were mine.
Mine were warm, the Carabao and the FA Cup, where they had ended up some time in the night.
The third was cold, and it was the Europa, and it was cold because it was not mine anymore, it was hers, and it was cold because Emma was asleep half on top of me with her cheek on my collarbone and the ribbon of it had slid round and come to rest on my sternum between us, all three of them tangled together in a knot of ribbon I was not going to be the one to undo.
I lay there a while and did the maths of the night before.
I had not had a drink. Not one.
