It's not the despair that gets you, it's the hope...

Anna's youngest brother has been over from Greece, and he and I made our regular pilgrimage of pain to watch Southampton play on Saturday.

There's something rather awkward about having such a huge stadium for a League One side. Over 19,000 people showed up for the game against newly-promoted Brentford and, like so many other Saints fans, I found myself hoping - maybe even believing - that this would be the day when the recovery started. This would be our first victory of the new campaign.

True, there was a nagging thought at the back of my mind - even if we won, it would scarcely be something to brag about. Beating Brentford isn't something that I'd have been excited about in years gone by. However, this was the best that we could hope for on the day and, as we went through the turnstiles, that thrill of anticipation banished common sense and got us in the mood...

...and then the match started.

It's difficult to explain the awful cocktail of emotions that go with supporting Scotland, Partick Thistle, or Southampton. You have to admire my consistency in picking teams that disappoint, and nobody has ever referred to me as a glory hunter. But it would be nice to have just a little respite from the terrible frustration that comes with missed chances, failed passes and altruistic defending.

When we went 1-0 up, it seemed as though there was light at the end of the tunnel. All the preceeding agony had been worthwhile as we jumped about and celebrated in the sun.

Sadly, the light at the end of the tunnel was an oncoming train. The game finished 1-1 and we trudged home with that special sort of post-match regret reserved for vital leads that have been foolishly squandered.

It's going to be another long season.