IT IS HARD TO EXPLAIN TO SOMEBODY WHO HASN’T BEEN THERE JUST WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE CAST ADRIFT IN THE CHAMPIONSHIP.

For me, it was like a trip to see Aunty Marge when we were kids. You didn’t want to go but you knew you had to, you wanted to escape as soon as you got there but you weren’t sure if or when you could break free. When you did get away, the relief was overwhelming, but the memory of the visit still sent a shiver down your spine.

The celebratory feel of being back in the Premiership has continued on through the season, as the team and the manager have converted hard work and phenomenal self-belief into results that have amazed everybody, from sharp-tongued critics to the most over optimistic of Hammers.

With five League games to go, and hopefully a couple more in the FA Cup, I don’t think there is any doubt that this has been a special season and one that even 12 months ago many of us considered way beyond even imagination.

It is perhaps a little early to be talking about highlights, especially with an FA Cup semi-final at Villa Park coming up next weekend (and the chance to sing ourselves hoarse again with hopefully a more positive result than the 1991 semi-final defeat) but whatever finale the team has in store for us, there is already much to be proud of.

My personal favourite moment of the season so far was the trip to Arsenal in February. The famous old stadium, nestled in among the terraced houses of Highbury, was one of the first I visited as a youngster. When you are only four feet tall, the long walk up the sloping tunnel from Arsenal Tube with a few locals scurrying by on the other side of the iron barrier, is an adventure in itself. The big open clock end where the away support would cram in by their thousands, your feet off the ground as the bodies swayed to the chorus of Bubbles is a feeling that will never be repeated in these safety conscious days.

One season when I had barely broken into my teens, I got gently pulled to one side by a policeman just inside the entrance gate.

“You on your own son?”

“No,” I said nervously, pointing to some mates who had already disappeared into the crowd.

He looked at the claret and blue scarf tied around my wrist, glanced at another Bobby alongside him, then with a smile took the loose end of my scarf and tied it to an iron railing.

“Bet you can’t get out of that then,” he said in his best Eric Morecambe voice, as all the other fans piling into the ground laughed with him.

Those times are gone and sadly that sense of humour seems to have disappeared too, so I was pleased just to be able to get into Highbury on February 1, revive some old memories and be able to witness the Irons’ last ever game on the famous turf. And what a game.

I still cannot decide what was the most thrilling moment on the night. Nigel Reo-Coker’s run and finish, his attempted Michael Jackson dance after scoring, Bobby Zamora standing tall while an England centre-half bounced off him as he lined up goal No 2, or the realisation as Matty Etherington tucked away the third goal that West Ham could actually win the game.

The best feeling of all though was leaving that grand old stadium with a smile. Something that I have done a lot this season and it is all down to the supreme effort of Alan Pardew and the players. For that lads, we thank you.