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I like hanging out with Duncan Ferguson. There’s a quiet companionship between us now. There’s something about his presence that makes me feel safe and secure. He’s not one for small talk. He’s happy to sit on the sofa in my office, quietly chewing on something while I get on with my work, occasionally rising to suggest, with no small amount of hope in his eyes, that we go for a walk.

If there is a drawback to sharing an office with him, and I am being a bit of a fusspot, it’s his reaction to the unexpected arrival of anyone new.

The door to my office swings open and my coach John Miles appears.

“Gaffer?” he says, without looking up from his clipboard.

“WHAT?” shouts Duncan, leaping from the sofa towards him. “WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT?” he screams in John’s face.

John cries out in shock and tries to get away, but it’s too late. Duncan is on him, pushing him roughly against the wall.

“WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT!” he shouts, spittle peppering John’s face.

“Gaffer!” wails John. “Help me!”

I look up wearily from my desk.

“Duncan!” I call with forced authority in my voice. His ears prick up and he stops shouting. “It’s John. We like John. Down, Duncan. Down!”

Duncan nods at John and returns to his sofa, but he doesn’t take his eyes off him.

“What can I do for you, John?”

John wipes the spit off his face with one trembling hand.

“I was just up with the Player Liason desk. They wanted to warn you that Romelu Lukaku and Gerard Deulofeu are both expecting to move before the transfer window closes next week.

“Thank you, John, that will be all,” I say.

John glances at Duncan as if he wants to say something, but he decides against it and leaves us to it. Wise man.

“This will be a long week, Duncan. Maybe we should just bite the bullet and offer them out, get as much money as we can and buy ourselves some time to rebuild?”

“I don’t know why they’re leaving,” growls Duncan. “We’re third, we could be in the Champions League next season.”

“It’s just modern football,” I say, philosophically. “We’ll get the money, we’ll rebuild, Everton was here before them, it will be here after them too. But less of that Champions League talk. Nothing’s decided yet.”

Not least because we have Spurs this weekend. If there’s ever a surprise team like us in the top four, it means there’s a surprise team like them not in the top four. Tottenham, who pushed Leicester closest last season, would have expected to be challenging again this year. Instead, they find themselves in ninth. But they’re still loaded with talent and my brief hope that they had exhausted themselves getting knocked out of the FA Cup in midweek is extinguished when I see that Mauricio Pochettino played his reserves.

We’re mostly full strength, we’re only missing Idrissa Gueye and Oumar Niasse, both on African Nations Cup duty. New goalkeeper Alfie Areola has had the benefit of three weeks in the reserves to acclimatise, he comes in for his debut. Let’s just hope he doesn’t make a tit of himself.

We start brightly, but we’re far too wasteful in front of goal. We make countless opportunities, the best of which sees Ross Barkley hit the crossbar, but midway through the first half Spurs awaken, annoyingly just as Ramiro Funes Mori goes to sleep at a set piece. Harry Kane takes full advantage. There’s nothing Areola can do.

And then the spark seems to go out in my team. All of the men we look to when we need inspiration are playing within themselves. Funes Mori, targeted by Chelsea, is poor. Gerard Deulofeu, wanted by Real Madrid, is anonymous. Romelu Lukaku, who had a tantrum when I suggested I might not sell him to Manchester City, is dreadful. What on earth could be affecting them?

We keep cracking on in the second half, breaking through only to fluff the final pass, or making the final pass only to fluff the shot, and then Kyle Walker clatters Lukaku in the box and Leighton Baines salvages a point late on. It’s a good point, on balance, but it is our fourth 1-1 draw in five games.

On Monday morning I let it be known that I will accept £55m for Lukaku and £45m for Deulofeu, fees that will make them among the most expensive players in the world. In the afternoon, I receive a note from Steve Walsh. It is not a happy note.

I’ve needed to strengthen the central areas for a while now, Darron Gibson proving a less than capable option, and I’ve dropped £8m on Andrea Poli from AC Milan. He looks to be one of those players who can do everything quite well, I’d be comfortable putting him in any of the three midfield roles and I’ll give him a run out in the FA Cup against Bristol City. A move for Hamburg’s brilliant left winger Filip Kostic, alas, falls down at the work permit stage. I appeal, but not with any real hope of winning them over.

We’re not in Europe, so we have to go for it in the domestic cups, that’s my rule. A home tie with a struggling Bristol City is about as good a draw as we could hope for and the only change I want to make is to replace Tom Davies with Poli and see how he gets on.

It’s a frustrating afternoon. We make two dozen chances and waste them all. Lukaku, with one eye on his big Manchester City move, barely shows a leg. Deulofeu, with one eye on his big Real Madrid move, looks distinctly average. Poli is trying too hard, lashing shots in on goal from miles out with no success and James McClean continues to underwhelm in what might be his final bit of first team action. It’s a rubbish game and it ends goalless.

And that take us to the real event. Transfer deadline day. First thing in the morning, I get a call from authorities. Kostic’s work permit has gone through on appeal. There’s just one problem. We bought Poli and now we haven’t got quite enough to complete the deal. But that shouldn’t be a problem for long, so I delay the deal and wait by the phone.

But it doesn’t ring. No-one wants Ashley Williams and I get that. No-one wants Darron Gibson and I understand why. No-one wants Phil Jagielka or Gareth Barry because they can get them for free in six months. But no-one wants Lukaku and no-one wants Deulofeu. And as the clock ticks down, I have to call Hamburg and explain that we can’t buy their boy.

And so now what have I got? I’ve got one left winger and it’s the £4m reserve signing McClean. I’ve got two key players who are probably going to accuse me of breaking my promises and down tools. I haven’t got the new centre-back I wanted. I’ve got a decent goalkeeper, but that probably could have waited until the summer. I’ve got a decent midfielder, but that’s of little consolation. I’ll be honest with you, that didn’t go well at all.

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