Two-nil in our Cup Final

West Ham 2 Portsmouth 0

We’re in Hertfordshire with Her Indoors’ mother, and the only train running is the Stansted Express. At Tottenham Hale the tube resembles a scene from Day of the Triffids. It’s a shambling Sunday service and only one shop open at a post-apocalyptic Liverpool Street.

But at least there’s a Christmas Carol in Ken’s Café, plus Matt, Lisa, Big Joe and Littler Jo and lots of chips. Although Nigel’s in Richmond Park with his mum and Fraser’s at Wolverhampton races. Little Billy from the Café is going to the debtors' derby as a surprise Christmas present, poor sod.

Before kick-off there’s a little cheer for Hammers legend Hayden “he never lets you down” Mullins. Franco is in the side despite the Independent claiming he had suffered a “freak training ground injury”.

It’s an ugly relegation battle in the first half. There’s the obligatory early injury. Noble goes off and is replaced by Jimenez, leaving us looking lightweight in midfield.

We look nervous at the back and Green drops a cross. Jimenez is fluffing passes and raises the ire of the vicar’s son next to me: “Show some heart Jimenez! He’s like the cowardly lion!” he exclaims, wondering if West Ham will ever find the yellow brick road or be purchased by the Wizard of Oz.

Pompey are playing with just one man up and are also pretty dirty — the odious Michael Brown and Dindane are both booked for scything fouls.

“Small team from Millwall!” sing the Pompey fans. “Is that all you bring away?” chant the Irons.

Diamanti plays in some fine crosses from deep and eventually we win a penalty. Franco is blocked and the ball breaks to Jimenez who is hacked down by one Hayden Mullins. Allesandro has the arrogance you need to be a Premier League player, and never looks like missing from the spot.

Collison should have made it two before the break when he steers the ball wide of an empty net after the as always excellent Parker squares the ball across goal.

Early in the second half Diamanti has a deflected shot brilliantly saved by Begovic. But then we sit back and Portsmouth attack much more once Kanu comes on. Piquionne has a shot saved by Green and then almost profits from a dodgy back pass to Green.

“We’ve got three players who are defensive liabilities in Franco, Jimenez and Diamanti,” bemoans Matt. We can’t see why the half-paced Franco is allowed to stay on. He’s clearly not fit and Nouble would at least run around more. At least Zola brings on Behrami for Diamanti to add some defensive work rate.

It’s end to end though and we have a much better final 20 minutes. Parker and Kovac are both working hard and winning tackles. Collison shimmies and has a low shot saved by the keeper. Sub Behrami sees the ball squirm just wide of the post. Jimenez bizarrely fails to shoot when the opportunity is there and then has a free kick tipped over. But at one goal we can never be sure.

Then on 89 minutes Jimenez swings in a great free kick and Kovac rises like a great blonde Father Christmas to beat Mullins to the ball and thump a superb header into the back of the net, before leaping into the arms of fans in the Bobby Moore Stand as if he'd always dreamed of scoring for the Hammers as a boy in Prague.

“We never doubted him!” says Matt.

“Where was Nigel when Kovac scored his first home goal before becoming a West Ham legend?” I ask. "And when we finally kept a clean sheet?" Before the game you'd have got better odds on Tiger Woods keeping his sheet untarnished.

It’s been a strange game for Jiminez, who has looked lightweight and diffident but made both goals. Nouble at last gets to come on in the first minute of added time.

An ugly game but a great win for the Irons, and we’re now four points off the bottom and out of the relegation zone. We had to get three points today because we never win at Spurs.

Merry Christmas Bob Scratchit, Tiny Tim (or is it Kevin Keen?), seven-year-old Freddie Sears and Gianfranco Zola! And perhaps the enlightened Ebenezer Scrooge is now thinking of making an offer for West Ham.

Something better change?

West Ham 0 Portsmouth 0

Nigel’s been to see the Stranglers, he informs us in the nice’n’sleazy Ken’s Cafe.

“We certainly need to straighten out the midfield,” says Matt.

“You could say after no wins for six games that something better change,” suggests Nigel.

“There are no more heroes anymore,” I moan.

“They wrote a song about our misunderstood former chairman didn’t they?” says Matt, “Golden Brown”.

My seven-year-old daughter Nell demolishes egg, chips sausage and beans and ketchup and salt, enjoying the substances forbidden once you pass the border patrols of Islington. We’re waiting for my pal Fleur down from Yorkshire and her son George, somewhere on a train from Slough. They are delayed by a late train and the impression that it takes half an hour to tube it from Paddington to Upton Park.

In side Upton Park the good news is that Cole and Behrami are back and Upson has recovered from his dead leg. David James receives a sporting ovation from the Bobby Moore Stand.

As against Everton, our football is good. We make lots of intricate patterns, Parker is busy, Sears is causing trouble out wide and Collison is again a revelation in midfield. We’re playing with spirit, but again we lack a cutting edge.

“Daddy, why do West Ham always lose?” asks Nell, causing Matt, Nigel and Fraser to chuckle. I wonder if I have the moral right to inflict further claret and blue traumas upon an innocent child…

At half-time it’s not looking too bad. “Our football’s been really good apart from creating chances,” I suggest.

“That’s like saying someone’s really attractive apart from the huge birth mark across their face,” counters Nigel.

News reaches us that Fleur and George have picked up the tickets I left at Ken’s at 4pm only to find the stadium shut. But security have helped them find seats in the Bobby Moore Stand where they’re greeted with cries of “You ain’t missed much!”

In the second half we have a good chance is when a defender skies the ball into the air and Carlton Cole takes an air-kick. For all his industry he’s no Deano.

Defoe is their biggest threat. He slips past Collins and Rob Green makes a fantastic save. Then Green tips over another Defoe lob and saves a third effort with his legs in front of Fabio Capello. Nell asks why we boo Defoe and not Carlos Tevez. Ah, the intricacies of football allegiances…

The hardworking Behrami is brought down on the edge of the box. Craig Bellamy’s free kick thumps back off the bar and Collison does well to volley the ball back but it goes straight to James. The crowd are behind the lads now, we struggle for that elusive win, make pretty patterns but as ever, we make Distin, Kaboul and James look like man mountains.

We plead with Matt to start swearing again because we haven't won since he stated behaving like a vicar's son. But he claims he can only get angry when we're winning and look like throwing it away.

Defoe is through again but Greeny saves with his legs this time. The final whistle goes, and Nigel points out that we’ve kept a clean sheet for the first time in 25 games. That should be the headline item on the national news.

Zola talks about his grand project and creating a new mentality after the game, but the harsh fact is we haven’t won in seven games and Curbs’ sides regularly picked up points.

Nigel forgoes hanging around to head home to relive his Stranglers gig. I reflect that there’s the germ of something in our football. Sears and Collison look like our next stars to flog to Chelsea, it’s all there apart from the finishing. One day, perhaps, we’ll give someone a tonking.

Although as Hugh Cornwall might sing: “But the money’s no good… just get a grip on yourself.”