Ah, the guilty pleasures of the flesh. Well, the pleasures of St Mary's (a)…

There's a big (but almost empty) tin of Quality Street in my desk drawer at work, American Idol is back on ITV2 and the iPod I got for Christmas has selected tracks from N-Trance, Mousse T and S Express loaded onto it.

Far from being the period of spartan self-denial that traditionally follows the excesses of Christmas, January turned out to be Guilty Pleasures month.

I thought the culmination of this was going to be the all-expenses-paid trip to Prague I enjoyed last week while my wife was left to keep all the plates spinning at home. (If my experience was anything to go by, incidentally, we signed the only person in the Czech Republic who doesn't speak excellent English in David Strihavka.)

But Tuesday's trip to Southampton outdid it for both guilt and pleasure.

It began with slipping out of work early to get the train, using the time-honoured ruses of hanging a spare coat on the back of my chair and exiting via the back staircase.

I hadn't done this for a while; as a man with responsibilities and dependants these days, I usually do the prudent thing and book the whole afternoon off. But with my defunct company mobile making me uncontactable at present (you've no idea how often I had to, ahem, accidentally drop it), I decided to experience the frisson of illicit escape.

Fuelled by a coffee from Starbucks (evil but tasty ? actually, that should be their slogan) and a bacon roll (delicious even if you've seen 'Babe'), I duly arrived at St Mary's to witness one of the finest pieces of larceny I've seen in ages.

Glenn Roeder admitted afterwards that we rode our luck at times. Man, we rode it like Dick Turpin riding Black Bess. This is not to denigrate the fantastic effort the players put in, but it really was floodlit robbery.

Of course, it hurts to be on the receiving end of this sort of thing ? the home game against Wolves last season springs to mind, and the Saints fans bumping and barging their way past us as we came out of the stadium on Tuesday were clearly a touch disgruntled ? but the feeling of stealing away into the night with three stolen points was marvellous.

(I love the fact that in football, teams don't always get what they deserve; it makes it so much more interesting. Are there any other sports where the undeserving can nick a win? There was the Australian speed skater who fluked a gold at the 2002 Winter Olympics, but that's all I can think of.)

You could tell how much the City supporters were relishing events on the pitch from the steadily increasing noise levels during the second half. It wasn't just a matter of roaring the boys on to the final whistle; we were roaring with laughter at every hapless miss from the home strikers.

And when Stern John proved himself to be incapable of locating his banjo, let alone the cow's backside, with his hilariously bad penalty, I think we all realised the game was ours.

The only slight worry arising from the game is that we may have used our entire quota of luck for the rest of the season in one go. That's what happened when we beat Newcastle 2-1 in 1994/95; we (or specifically, Andy Marshall) withstood a fearful battering to hang on for the victory that day, but we won only once more after that and got relegated.
______________________________________________________________

Talking of Newcastle, they've been a target of another of my guilty pleasures this month: schadenfreude. As Dame Edna once put it, I have been blessed with the priceless gift of being able to laugh at the misfortunes of others, but it's only since I've felt more confident about City staying up this season that I've been prepared to indulge it again.

Is it just me, or are most football followers looking at events at St James' Park and sniggering in anticipation of more bitter disappointment? Choosing a manager who, by his own admission, hasn't watched a Premiership match in three years and then hiring Dennis Wise apparently without consulting him doesn't seem, well, wise. Northern Rock, whose name is on the front of the team shirts, is starting to look a well-run organisation by comparison.

Given a choice between Keegan and Roeder, I know who I would want managing my team ? even if Keegan does provide plenty of 'King Kev' headlines, which are always good for sticking on the wall next to my desk.

And if Lee Clark has ambitions of managing the club, I think he's taken a very sensible step in extricating himself from the situation. You're far better off sticking with us, Lee.
______________________________________________________________

And finally? starting next week, Suffolk New College in Ipswich is running the first of four adult education courses entitled The History of Ipswich Town FC 1878 to 1940.

Sixteen places are available on each course; it will be interesting to hear whether they manage to sell all their tickets.

But if they turn out to be over-subscribed, there are plenty of other courses at the college which may interest local fans.

Course number AUASGL9E8, for example: 'Singing for Beginners'.