The Mill knows what it means to have loved and lost, how it feels when something happens on the way to heaven and against all odds two hearts are suddenly living separate lives. And not just from studying intently the alphabetised list of its collection of original 7-inch Phil Collins singles - mainly the Mill has learnt all it knows most surely about the mysteries of the heart by wallowing in the pages of the tabloid press.
So, when we read in this morning's Sun that Cesc Fábregas thinks Arsenal are "IMPOTENT" (note: not "important") and that he's finding himself increasingly drawn to irresistible, silicone-enhanced, puts-it-about-all-over-the-shop harlot Real Madrid, the Mill fears this is only going one way. How long before Cesc is talking wearily about Arsène Wenger's "walnut manhood", uploading scurrilities about Emanuel Eboué's lack of recent success as a pop-reggae act on his Twitter feed, and being papped cavorting on a boat somewhere hot rubbing Ambre Solaire into his pendulous, over-sized udders?
Hopefully, quite long. But still, saying things like "of course my family would understand if I signed for Real Madrid because they love me" is hardly likely to discourage a summer of soul-destroying back-and-forths, is it?