Christmas Eve, London.
Deep in wintry north London there lives a man named Arsene 'scrooge' Wenger, he works every day in his little office, overseeing his big project. Always he is working, day and night, on the training field or by the light of his little lamp. The work on his big project goes on and on, so that one day his ideas will change the world. But this project takes time, so much time because Mr Wenger guards his purse strings very carefully. He scrutinises every outgoing, saves his money scrupulously for the good of the project. There is no room for frivolity. And therefore there is no room for Christmas. And so this is what he tells his assistant. His long suffering assistant Pat Rice, a kindly twinkly Irishman. He informs Mr Wenger that once again it is Christmas and its customary to have a day off. "Christmas again Pat?" Mr Wenger asks irritably. "But if you have the day off, who will take training on Christmas day for we have a match on boxing day." A boxing day match, for his boys, his youthful football team, his callow and childish pride and joy. "Of course sir." Pat sighs. "But who will look after Tiny Jack?" Tiny Jack, the baby of the team, its fragile star in waiting, poor tiny Jack hobbling on his heavy crutches, suffering with a leg injury. "Oh alright then Pat. Have your Christmas day." Arsene grumbles. He heads home in the snow, back to his big, old empty house, "Humbug" He complains to himself, "What nonsense all this christmas business is..." he groans as he goes to bed......
To be continued..............
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