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We’ve had lots of applicants already and I scan down the list. A number of names immediately jump out at me in much the same way a gang might jump out at me in an alleyway. Roy Keane? I can’t have him coming in and shouting, “That’s nothing special, that’s what you’re supposed to do!” every time we do something right. Everton doing something right is such a rare occasion, we need to cherish those moments.

Colin Pascoe’s Liverpool connections will count against him and besides, I find the whole shorts thing weird. Terry Burton could bring the spirit of the Crazy Gang, but I like my suits the way they are. Kevin Bond could be very useful because I don’t like driving in big cities and Ray Lewington has just been working with England, but there’s no real stand-out candidate.

“Maybe,” says Duncan Ferguson, my shooting coach, “the best person for the job is right under your nose.” He cocks his head to one side and his eyes widen.

“Duncan!” I exclaim. “You might be right!”

Duncan grins and his bottom begins to twitch.

“Joe!” I shout.

Duncan’s bottom falls still.

Joe Royle’s head immediately pops around the corner of the door.

“Yes?” he beams.

“How do you feel about stepping up from Head of Youth Development and becoming my new assistant manager?”

On the very edge of my hearing, I think I can hear a sad whining noise somewhere, but I shrug it off. Probably tinnitus.

“Nah,” says Joe, shaking his head. “That’s a young man’s game, I’m quite happy where I am, working with the kids.”

“Ok, fair enough,” I say. I turn back to Duncan.

“Well, I guess there’s only one thing for it.”

Duncan’s bottom begins to twitch again.

“We’ll leave the advert up for another week and see if anyone better applies.”

Duncan throws back his head and howls.

Chelsea are a tough proposition. Antonio Conte tends to send them out in a 3-4-3, and three central defenders are obviously a bit of a chore for a lone striker, even one in the form of Oumar Niasse. There are some caveats to this. With Ross Barkley tasked with making so many forward runs, there’s an argument that we really play with two strikers. Plus, we’re likely to have the extra man in midfield, so we can stop them from getting at us. The one major issue is the suspension of Leighton Baines. With Bryan Oviedo still injured, I’m forced to field the emergency left back Enric Saborit, a man who has thus far struggled to adapt to the standards demanded by the Checkatrade Trophy.

But what’s interesting is that teams are affording us more respect since we roared up the table and Conte decides to augment his back three with two defensive midfielders. This leaves them with a massive gap in the middle and relying on wing backs to put us under pressure. And it doesn’t work.

We are much the better team in the first half and we’re gifted the opening goal when Marcos Alonso under-hits a back pass and Gerard Deulofeu nips in to poke the ball home. Unfortunately, that’s his last meaningful action of the game and he limps off before the half hour. His form is one of the key reasons we’ve done so well. It’s also the reason why scouts from Real Madrid, Paris St Germain, and Manchester City are in the stadium.

After an hour, Conte switches it up and returns to his usual 3-4-3 and it pays off. The balance of power shifts and Diego Costa nods home a corner at the back post. We need impetus and so I withdraw the anonymous Niasse, put James McClean on the left, and push Kevin Mirallas up front. Two minutes later, the substitutes combine to give us the lead.

But there’s a problem. Martin Stekelenburg is down, clutching his back. I don’t want to take any chances, so I withdraw him from the fray and send on Joel Robles. And what happens next is only partly his fault. Chelsea hurl everything at us and when they switch the play quickly from the left to the right, they find us all at sea. Saborit is marooned too far up the pitch, Ramiro Funes Mori can’t cover the space, and substitute Nathaniel Chalobah steals in to beat Robles at his near post. It’s a blow. But it’s not exactly against the run of play.

After the game, we assess the damage. Deulofeu will spend the international break at home resting up, but he should return for the next game. Stekelenburg seems fine, but the next day we get a call from the medical department. It is not a happy call.

When you’re in a leadership position, as I am, it’s important to be able to control your emotions and to provide assurance for your staff. And so after I’ve finished sobbing in the stationary cupboard, I sit down with Joe and Duncan to work out a plan.

“We could buy a new goalkeeper,” suggests Joe. “Martin is 34 now and he won’t go on for ever. This could be an opportunity.”

“That’s a fair point,” I concede, “but it doesn’t help us right now. We’ve got two months before the window opens and if Robles gets injured, we’re reduced to playing youth team goalkeepers that we’ve already decided aren’t good enough for the youth team.”

“Out of contract players?” asks Duncan.

“There’s not much out there,” I sigh. “I’ve found an Iranian goalkeeper who’s played in Russia and Portugal – he might be useful, we could get him in on trial?”

Joe and Duncan nod in agreement.

“In the meantime, I’ll make casual enquiries as to the availability of the goalkeepers on our short list.”

The conversations don’t take long. Chelsea want nearly £60m for Asmir Begovic. Arsenal want £1.7m for the soon-to-be-out-of-contract Emi Martinez, PSG laugh down the phone at me when I ask about Alphonse Areola, and Sunderland don’t return my calls about Jordan Pickford.

It’s international week so we play a surprisingly strong side in the Checkatrade Trophy against Chesterfield. Robles is joined by Phil Jagielka, Gareth Barry, Aaron Lennon, and Tom Cleverley and we win 1-0. Unfortunately, while our Iranian trialist hasn’t got a club, he has got a country and we can’t test him out while he’s away with them. Nor can we play Romelu Lukaku, but he gets a decent hour in with Belgium and that, allied with the goal he scores for the U23s on his return, convinces me to put him back on the bench for Crystal Palace.

It’s a surprisingly cagey start from both teams. We go close through a Seamus Coleman drive, they go close when James Tomkins smashes a shot off the bar, but it’s a quiet half. With an hour gone, I bring on Lukaku and McClean to try to change the dynamic. It works. Sort of. Tomkins misses a header, Lukaku charges through and James McArthur levels him to earn himself a second yellow card.

Alan Pardew takes the bold stance of leaving his shape unchanged, which means poor Joel Ward has to handle an entire flank alone. I push up Leighton Baines and McClean and order everything to be played to the left. It does nothing. I flip the central triangle and push Ross Barkley up behind Lukaku. It does nothing. I stand on the touchline and bellow at everyone to push up and overload our diminished opponents. It does nothing. Too many key players are too far below their level and we don’t deserve three points.

I mustn’t grumble though. We’re still performing far better than I believed might be possible. We’ve only conceded five goals in 12 games, which is incredible. We’ve won eight matches, and if we win another eight more we won’t do worse than mid-table. And we could do a lot better than that too. The nights are drawing in, but we’re still putting points on the board and that’s all I can ask for at this stage.

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