I CORRECTLY predicted in last week’s column that there would be many people desperate to pretend nothing had happened.

But I wasn’t prepared for quite how heroic the attempts to screen out Arsenal’s title would be.

Full marks for creativity to Manchester City, who deployed the full civic pageant: two in-match guards of honour for departing players, some Bafta-nominee tears from Pep Guardiola, an open-top bus parade, and, when all this failed, out came former player Vincent Kompany, fresh from actually winning the German league, onto a panto stage somehow with the Premier League trophy.

We all know perfectly well the silverware is dressed in red and white ribbons and has Win the dog’s guarding paw on it right now in London.

Then there was Manchester United, who once teased Arsene Wenger for treating fourth place as a municipal holiday.

Now, you might think Bruno Fernandes’ tally of assists is the biggest medal in world soccer.

If your office fantasy league was decided on his last one – an own goal by the Brighton keeper – I’d advise instructing counsel. You have a strong legal case.

Liverpool, naturally, tried to steal the show too with their never-ending goodbye to Mo Salah, who seems to have been forever shuffling towards the exit for at least two years. He’s been a bit like Columbo at the door: One last thing, Mr Slot, where were you on the night you murdered your football team?

Tenth place Chelsea, meanwhile, were still wearing world champions badges with the energy of a man “accidentally” wearing his lanyard on the train home because he once got into Cannes.

And then there’s Spurs, who thought: Let’s rousingly cheer at some blacked out coaches down the high road in N17. It’s our day too.

Perhaps it would have been less revealing to raise a glass to the relief they all felt in a quiet place, with an elegant recognition that not every party next door requires you to come outside in your own paper hat and stare through the front window. Roberto De Zerbi rightly insisted it was not the time for wild celebrations, understandably after surviving a bizarre garotting by sub keeper Guglielmo Vicario.

The sideshows continued: Thomas Tuchel tried to steer the conversation away from the red flares outside the Emirates with the ultimate media dead cat strategy – including Jordan Henderson in the England squad for the World Cup.

But none of it has been able to divert the eyes from the astonishing scenes of celebration.

The sheer numbers which have amassed to enjoy the start of this Arsenal brat summer have shocked rivals.

The real story is not City’s weeble bottle guy – still available for interviews, whenever Talksport calls – United’s assists spreadsheets, or Chelsea’s gold stickers like they’ve been good at the dentist.

At last, the real story is Arsenal, and when the smoke clears that big trophy will be on the only procession that matters this Sunday.