AFTER the harum scarum of the last few weeks these few days seem a welcome respite from the mentally, and at times almost physically, draining business of following Liverpool FC.

Loads of goals at both ends, matches turning on their heads like a Bronx breakdancer, and the odd moment of light relief (thanks Fergie) have all combined to make the last two months one of the most eventful, if stressful, periods in our recent history.

As fragile at the back as we now seem so potent up front, it looks like we’re going to be living on the edge right up to the last game or so.

Outsiders we may be, but if we keep winning then it’ll be the West Brom game before we’re finally out of the running at the earliest; a pleasant change from the Novembers and Decembers of previous seasons which have seen us lose so much ground on the league leaders that you’d think we’d had a Paula Radcliffe pit-stop.

So there’s much to be proud of, and yes I think we have made progress.

But I’m trying hard not to think about the possibility that this will ultimately be another season where we end up with our noses pressed against the window as the prizes are handed out to clubs other than our own.

The reasons behind us opening up at both ends are not hard to pin down.

It’s clear that, to a certain degree, Rafa has released the hounds, and that the players are free to commit more in the opposing half.

The return of Torres has also lifted the whole side just like the presence of Ian Rush used to do: you know there’s always a chance they’ll pull something out of the bag.