You couldn’t walk anywhere this summer without seeing somebody in a Gunners shirt [Simon Lamrock]

CUE the music: guess who’s back? Back again. Yes, it’s me – but it’s not just me is it. It’s you. It’s them. You on the motorbike. It’s everyone.

Everybody is fresh and happy from the Arsenal brat summer where you couldn’t walk anywhere without seeing somebody in a Gunners shirt. On the tube, at the checkout, at the sauna on the corner, you couldn’t escape the sight of red and white merch – or a kaleidoscope of away shirt colours – across London since that title celebration parade in May.

The frankly gratuitous revelry across our city has meant we’ve watched other teams desperately swap their managers and spend millions of pounds to try and prevent ever enduring another summer like this, itching for last weekend to come around and the scores to reset.

The greatest holiday for some, has been the worst for others, and we would be respectful to the latter’s frustration if it was not so much fun to be wearing your Gooner shirt at the Balearics baggage carousel…the opera, society dinner parties and your niece’s well-dressed wedding.

People have dealt with Arsenal’s braggadocio in different ways and it was unfortunate for them that the World Cup proved only a minor distraction, with three Gunners coming home with winners medals, naturally.

Erling Haaland shaved his head presumably to feel better in his soul-searching, Spurs spent their Beyonce cash on all Manchester City’s cast-offs and Michael Carrick ended up as a waxwork watching thousands of burly Hull City fans doing a slightly camp tiger paw dance in front of United’s we-are-so-back supporters.

Ok, it was very camp and we all loved it.

The rivals descended into moaning about how a brass band outside the Emirates was corny and were still parping on about how that thoughtful ode to fighting gentrification and the housing crisis, North London Forever, is a bad song. Wonderful, as that none of it makes even the slightest dent while the golden ‘Champions’ signs stand above the doors at Ashburton Grove.

There will be some fans who are never happy: some were unnecessarily over emotional about the departure of Gabriel Martinelli, perhaps forgetting the ruined weekends that his imperfect shooting has caused.

No ill will is harboured to our Brazilian pal who fell in love with the club, but we had to say goodbye to Thierry Henry – twice – for a comparator on what really makes the eyelids wet. This isn’t a time for tears, it’s a time for hoping that the summer never ends.