Never mind the lottery that is the Grand National. Last Saturday, just after 4pm, I was suffering those dreadful mixed emotions I talked about in last week's column.

Never mind the lottery that is the Grand National. Last Saturday, just after 4pm, I was suffering those dreadful mixed emotions I talked about in last week's column.

That something that appeared to be giving was that Leicester - oh yes, it had to be Kenton who scored didn't it? - had rediscovered the winning habit at home under the tutelage of Nigel Worthington…an ex-City double whammy if ever we needed one.

And so, armed with that knowledge and feelings of impending doom, I headed out to the garden for some fresh air, sun and wine therapy and to contemplate what to spend my 50p on. (The one promised to me by a Leicester-supporting student if City lost at the Walkers Stadium, if you recall).

But I needn't have bothered wondering if the money would stretch to a big bar of mint Aero or not because, blow me down backwards in a wind tunnel, we managed to turn it around in minutes 60-70 courtesy of a converted penalty (welcome back Earnie!) plus an own goal.

I suppose I should have listened to the many Leicester fans who were adamant that they didn't want Nigel at their helm. 'Replacing a nice man with another nice man' is how many described events, 'and a nice man is not what we want right now!'

Well, it seems as if Worthy still has a soft spot for us if the second half was anything to go by.

Those three points were welcome going into a packed week with a trip to Burnley in the offing, followed hot on its heels by granting permission for the blue southern hordes to invade us on Sunday.

Heaven help a repeat of last season's encounter this side of the border when some of the side appeared to lay down and go to sleep.

As for the trip to Burnley there is no truth whatsoever in the rumour that Hucks failed to buy a sprig of lucky heather on his doorstep Tuesday morning.

Although, by all accounts, the youthful team we put out in the 3-0 defeat acquitted itself really well, especially considering we were apparently up against eleven men in claret and blue and three in black.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Dion Dublin will rather enjoy reading of himself included in a 'youthful' line up if someone could just care to put a paper in front of him at some point.

Oh…and before anyone asks me…I have paid up the 50p owed to the Fox fan, although I was greeted with a grin and a “no chance mate” at my suggestion that the recipient head off to buy a pad of A4 paper ready to write that next essay for me on.

Just time before catching my train back to the beloved county to hope that come the final whistle, regardless of the result, we can all walk out of Carrow Road with our heads held high and with more than just a sprinkling of hope for the future, and for next season more importantly.

To walk away as we did last year would be to feel empty, dispirited, and to some extent even cheated and that, as I'm sure you will agree, will just not do.

This game of all games is worthy (I knew I would mention him again!) of far more. It's over to you then lads.

Make us wear ours with even more pride than we usually do and bring a warm glow to descend upon us.

Please - or else I might just have to hibernate for a while.