That’s yours son, look after it. Never give it away, or give it up.

He was there with me for the game that ensured my undying loyalty

From that day forward I’ve been hooked

I will never forget my first sight of that perfectly manicured pitch

After a deep breath we entered the field of play to the customary roar

It was like some kind of post-watershed Timotei advert

I grew up on a farm in Iceland

He was obviously as excited as me

We were fortunate enough to be given tickets for this massive game

It was 1958 and I was just 9 years old.

His nose is a constant reminder of the exit of my hero.

Like a shouting, screeching hound from heaven. Ian. Wright.

The one that I hold most dear is not a major cup final or title decider

We loved Thierry Henry and we loved the fact he loved The Arsenal

I felt, surrogately, as though I was experiencing it all again for the first time

For years I convinced myself that this was the final kick of the game

They were sponsored by JVC, the same brand of television we were watching.

Astonishingly I received a reply from the manager himself

The moment a fleeting and childish fascination transformed into full-blown infatuation

He made John Terry look like a fool