In my younger days — before the internet, before the world became closer, quicker and yet easier to hide from — there was a girl; like there is in many stories.

She was pretty, way out of my league and, for some unknown reason, had thrown me a bone. Being deep into my confused Oasis/Reebok Classic/YSL shirt days, my first reaction was shock that she had taken a shine to me. But that night in late spring, with summer just around the corner, from nowhere I managed to piece together enough common sense, wit and charm to not “Spursy” the glorious opportunity up.

I was able to sustain this good run of form through late spring and with summer arriving, my mind was awash with all the Grease montage style things we could do together; walks along the beach, frolicking about in the shallows, sharing an ice-cream and bike rides. However, “Spursy” isn’t something that retreats after one failure.

It’s all been rather sensible, a word that isn’t often associated with our club

Seventeen years ago, I had my own Newcastle 5-1 moment at a party, on a boat, in the middle of the Thames. My summer was torn up and shredded with a few words, with no escape I had to ride the boat out until it docked again a few hours later at Tower Bridge. Glory.

My summer loving faded and I was left empty and wallowing in brandy, trying to be cool in Ayia Napa, despite not really liking Garage music.

The chance to have something great had gone. Was it my fault or hers? Nature? Fate?

This is the kind of question that we, as Spurs fans, ask ourselves every summer, when in reality there are no answers (or none that can soothe us).

In search of comfort I spent the rest of the summer looking for a replacement, something to fill the emptiness. To no avail of course. Just as I was coming to terms with the fact that it wasn’t meant to be, I spotted that same girl on the main strip of bars in Ayia Napa.

However this is real life. There wasn’t a last minute winner, a slow-mo action piece or a linesman’s flag to save the day. She was in a group of friends and didn’t see me. As Ayia Napa bounced to Garage music around me that summer, Shanks and Bigfoot became my Lasagne/Fulop/MindTheGap rolled into one.

This summer these long forgotten feelings resurfaced. Not by a chance encounter with DJ Luck and MC Neat or with that girl, but because last April, summer 2016 was meant to be the best ever. It wasn’t.

Time is a beautiful healer though, looking back at that night in Ayia Napa, where I ended up throwing up in the corner of a kitchen at some bar, I can do so with immense pride. I did seven shots of tequila in a row, a feat I haven’t got close to repeating. Tottenham meanwhile in 2015/16 did something equally as great (I use equally but it isn’t really, seven shots is glory,) we captured an identity and a plan that is greater than four bad results after a long hard season.

We have a manager and a team that for all intents and purposes are pulling in the same direction, with the same ethos of better, stronger, together and in a manner that I love. Work harder, run faster, be stronger and never stop.

There is something about this slightly tweaked squad that makes me feel last season was the preamble, the aperitif

For the most part Harry Kane and co were imperious, had it not been for agendas and a remarkable performance from Leicester City, our team would have been the darlings of the press. Looking back though, at a press that spewed nonsense this June, perhaps its better we weren’t a mouthpiece for them. Let others dance to their tune.

As the summer progressed we saw Spurs go about their business in a mature, professional manner. There have been no tapping up stories, no links, no SKY SPORTS UNDERSTANDS, and very little for the Twitter ITKs to fap about. The core of our team have remained in place and the question of them leaving was never even mentioned, no matter how many slow news days there’s been. It’s all been rather sensible, a word that isn’t often associated with our club.

The world didn’t end in Newcastle, it actually gave us a starting point

Instead of chasing something to fill the seeping wound of St James’ Park, we’ve stopped and taken a long hard look at ourselves in the mirror. In the bin has gone the YSL (Fazio) shirts and the Reebok Classics and in has come things we actually need. An alternative to Kane and support for Dier. It’s true that getting off your head is more fun, but it doesn’t solve anything, or 99% of the time lead to anything sustainable.

Evaluate. Recognise. Respond. It’s all very UnSpursy.

Of course the fan in me longs for that big story, that one name to get truly excited about. I’d love a link to James Rodriguez, Julian Draxler or Riyad Mahrez, anyone that would command a fee of £30m plus, but it’s pointless. It’s like looking for comfort in the swinging hips of a stripper when what you really want is someone to rub suntan lotion on your back.

I am as confident about our chances this season as I am every season. I’m an optimist masquerading in the body of a pessimist. My default stance is always pessimism, it’s there to defend me for that moment when Spurs or life lets me down, but this year it’s going in the bin. There is something about this slightly tweaked squad that makes me feel last season was the preamble, the aperitif.

I feel confident that we will see a stronger Spurs this season. A side capable of changing its style and a collective that has learnt from its mistakes and ready to build on its successes. It won’t be the foolish little boy who misread the situations then overreacted petulantly. What happened last spring hasn’t killed us, it has just made us stronger.

Ayia Napa taught me to grow up and that I’ll never make it as a Garage MC. Last season delivered equal truths to Spurs. Get up, dust yourselves down and go again. The world didn’t end in Newcastle, it actually gave us a starting point.