Right, to the point. Norwegian television offers us, the public, football extravaganza every Saturday at four O’clock. Which is three PM GMT, but let’s not get lost in time zones. And what do they offer us? Last weekend, Crystal Palace against Man City. Fair enough, they’re both contenders for promotion. The weekend before: To my delight, Forest against Watford. Okay, so Forest didn’t win, and the chances missed were more plentiful than beautiful women in Oslo mid-May.

But it was Forest. Good, old Forest. None of your David Platt-inspired boredom witnessed oh-so-many times last season. Which brings me to my point. Although I’m assured that the Football League picks the matches, I can’t help wondering why on Earth they show Wimbledon every second week. Wimbledon is a word equivalent to Homer Simpson’s “Booooooooooring” in my book. Not even a bunch of Norwegian footballers, a Norwegian manager, and indeed a Norwegian owner could raise my interest in that particular club. But maybe that's why we are treated to 90 minutes of Wimbledon? Because we're Norwegians? As a pay-back for the way Norwegians play football? "Here's Wimbledon, if you like those long balls"...

Because it has taught me about the pain that a lot of people must have suffered when they were subjected to the Norwegian international team in two World Cups. The ball spends most of the 90 minutes in the air, and the players seem to run aimlessly around the pitch. Being Norwegian, I suppressed any feeling of resentment towards such a style of play when it came to the national team. There are no Romarios or Gazzas in Norway.

The closest we’ve come to anyone near that type of skill and flair must be Lars Bohinen. And he ended his career in England on a substitutes’ bench in Derby. Good one, Lars. So we basically had to play through our strengths. Which were aerial prowess and good physique. And punting the ball up the pitch the second you got it. I’d like to apologise for Norway’s contribution to the long-ball game. And to assure you all that I’d much rather see a side passing to feet.

Merry Christmas, by the way…