The hardy Norwich fans who braved the storms to visit Anfield at the weekend will be able to write a short novel to express what their emotions went through on Saturday afternoon.

To travel more in hope than expectation, to watch in a state of nervous incredulity as we held on for a goalless first half. The sheer elation of the moment Rashica’s shot deflected into the back of the Liverpool net.

The 16 minutes when the impossible seemed possible, and hope became real. Then crashing back down to earth as late goals were conceded, and along with results elsewhere, we sunk back to the bottom of the table.

Subscribe to the Pink Un+ app here

If the order of the goals had been reversed, and Milot’s opener had been a late consolation our whole perspective of the match would have been flipped. It would have been a predictable result barely worth mentioning. But the dramatic turn of events left a lot of fans feeling emotionally drained come 5 o’clock.

I wasn’t in Merseyside for the match, and instead chose to shelter from weather in a Norwich bar with some friends. We were all interested in the fixture, but fearing the worst were doing our best to distract ourselves from the match. Yet every five minutes or so someone would suggest checking the score. For much of the first half I thought my phone had lost signal, as there were no alerts coming through, and I would log on to various websites and apps to be sure that our defence had indeed held firm

To be honest the longer the game went on the less inclined I was to check. I was engaged in a quasi-Schrödinger’s scoreline experiment. If I didn’t read the alerts then for me the score hadn't changed. We were still holding out against the Reds whilst I sat cosy at my table with friends, even if in reality we had let in a bucketload. However when I heard my mobile buzz, I couldn’t resist temptation and glanced at the screen. There was a look of disbelief on my face as I relayed the news that Norwich had in fact scored first.

Now I wanted to take the experiment to the extreme. To turn off my phone, put in my coat pocket, and possibly then go outside and dig a hole and bury my coat so that we would forever be a goal ahead at Anfield. Those who watched the game spoke of those glorious sixteen minutes when we were winning, when dreams could come true, and escape from the relegation zone was a reality. For me that time period was even longer, as although I didn’t in fact sacrifice my clothing to remain in ignorance bliss, I did chose to forget about my phone for awhile and sipped on a cocktail.

However, eventually as full time approached our nervous excitement forced me to cave and I opened the metaphorical box to discover that we were in fact losing. I had returned to the real world.

The disappointment of this defeat, after holding out for so long and scoring first, felt raw on Saturday evening. But in truth it is not this match that will define our season. It is the next few games against teams in the bottom half of the table that will determine if this is another one year stay in the top flight, or if we can impose ourselves on the division for a bit longer.

And although I fear there will be more days when hopes are raised and then dashed on that journey, that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy those occasions when things do go our way, no matter how briefly. Whatever the final outcome, and however you follow the fortunes of the Canaries, it’s those moments of joy that make football such an addiction. Savour each one as we head into this tense and crucial run of fixtures.