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I arrive at Finch Farm early. It’s a dark February morning and there’s frost on the grass. I pull my coat tightly around me and head for the main entrance.

Why am I here so early? Because hard work gets you through dark times. It’s like my old nan used to say, “When you’re in a hole, keep digging.”

I think that’s how the saying went.

I open the door and pad down the thick carpet corridor to my office. I know there must be something I can do tactically to break us out of this funk. One win in eight games is not good enough. And with the Merseyside derby coming up. Suddenly there’s a movement in the shadows.

“GOOD MOOOOOORNING!” sings Bill Kenwright as he jumps out at me doing frantic jazz hands. “Oh dear, are you ok?”

A moment or two passes between us as my heart rips itself loose of its pulmonary veins and darts out for a quick lap of the car park.

“Guh,” I manage as I slide down the wall.

“Come on, let’s get you back up, plenty to do, plenty to do!” He hauls me up and leads me to my office. “I wanted to grab some time with you before the day got started, have a bit of a chinwag, chew the cud, that sort of thing.”

“Mr Chairman, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, sitting down heavily in my chair.

“I’m talking about the team,” he says gently. “I know you had a hard time in January, I know you weren’t able to get the business done that you wanted to get done.”

“I couldn’t get it done,” I say quietly.

“Didn’t have to buy Andrea Poli though, did you?” mutters Bill.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing, nothing! Look, I just wanted to pop by and tell you that we’re fully supportive of you and your efforts to buy a new number ten.”

“Thanks Mr Chairman, I…wait a minute. I don’t want to buy a new number ten.”

“Davy Klaasan has scored ten in 19 games for Ajax, you know,” he says hopefully.

“No,” I say. “We have more pressing needs.”

“Wayne Rooney’s up for sale. Just £9m?”

“He’ll blow our wage budget.”

“Can I interest you in Gylfi Sig…”

“Definitely not, Mr Chairman!” I shout. “Look we need a centre-back, we need a left winger and when Romelu Lukaku eventually picks up his toys and pisses off to Manchester City, we’ll need a striker too. But we definitely don’t need a number ten.”

Bill holds his hands up.

“Just trying to help, Mr Manager,” he smiles. “I’ll let you get on.”

He leaves and I try to gather my thoughts. I open my laptop and scan the headlines. Ronald Koeman is back. He’s got the Leicester job. There’s no word yet on Erwin and his whereabouts. Alone or with his brother, Ronald will have his work cut out there. The champions have been circling the drain all season.

I’ve got my work cut out preparing for the Liverpool game. Roberto Mancini has really turned them around, they’ve won eight of their last ten. This won’t be easy. Gerard Deulofeu is back in the team and he appears to be behaving professionally. Lukaku has a face like a slapped bottom and is struggling to motivate himself for the U23s where he will remain until he is ready to apologise.

We make the worst possible start, shipping an utterly avoidable early goal by failing to clear our lines and allowing Dejan Lovren, of all people, to stab a loose ball home. But after absorbing a bit of pressure, we do eventually settle down and I’m able to reassure them at half-time that they’re actually doing okay here.

Two minutes after the restart Ross Barkley, the only number ten I want, breaks through the midfield, slips the ball to Oumar Niasse and he crashes home his tenth goal of a remarkable season.

Mancini is rattled and he changes his formation, dropping everyone back and attempting to hit us on the break. I react accordingly, switching Deulofeu to a new role as an inside forward, cutting in from the left and urging Rick Karsdorop to push up on the right in order to hit them in new ways from both flanks.

Liverpool take the lead shortly afterwards. It’s another set piece, another failure to clear our lines. Leighton Baines trips over the ball in the penalty area and Roberto Firmino capitalise. But Baines is a trooper, he gets his chin off the floor and with five minutes to go, he swings in a deep cross from the left and, would you believe it, Niasse is there to volley home the equaliser. We may have to at least entertain the argument that he’s all right, you know.

It’s one win in nine then, but I’m happy with the point and I’m amused at Mancini’s claim that we didn’t deserve to get something out of the game.

We say farewell to Gareth Barry this week, he’s off to Russia with love and respect from all of us. And a touch of gratitude because he was using up a hefty chunk of our wage bills.

Unfortunately, we’re also saying goodbye to Deulofeu for a few weeks because he’s smashed his cheekbone in training. This, given his reduced performances, it’s not as critical a loss as it would have been three months ago.

Stoke are our next visitors to Goodison Park and I have no idea what to expect because Mark Hughes has just been sacked. I bring in poor Aaron Lennon, who has been in my office begging for game time, to replace Deulofeu and just sort of hope that we get a result to match our performance. Assuming that we put in a good performance, of course. I’m quite happy to win and play badly, it’s been the bedrock of our season.

We take an early lead through an improably source. The relentless average James McClean gets free down the left, cuts in and drags the ball back for Lennon, who runs over the bench and screams something about whether or not I like these apples. Presumably it’s a message for our nutritionist.

We double our lead before the break when a Baines free kick is deflected home off Bruno Martins Indi and then three minutes after half time, Lennon taps home a Baines cross and looks like he’s going to implode with smug. It is the most comfortable of victories and the world seems bright again.

And so we’re into the final stage of the season now. And due to a fault at the user-end of the engagement between man and machine, no league table picture is available. But I can tell you that we have nine games to go, we’re fourth, a point above Manchester City and holding a 10-point lead over Liverpool in eighth. Only seven teams qualify for Europe, so that’s not a big enough gap for us to relax, but it’s better than we might have expected in July.

On Monday morning, I find a note on my desk from the press team.

Well, well, well. Look who’s come crawling back…

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