So, before a ball has been kicked, yet more of my hard-earned wonga is going on Martin's hobby. But this time he's promising me some kind of a return on my investment. So far in our life together, that sort of end-of-the-rainbow spiel from my beloved has yielded us some PVC double-glazing; one or two pieces of odd-looking furniture; ninth place in Division One; and two children. Mixed bag of a track record, I'm sure you'll agree.

Anyway, I'm writing to find out what it's all going to be about. Is Martin thinking clearly? Has he done his research? Have Watford? Which of the clubs that have previously floated on the Alternative Investment Market are in the black, which are giving Alternative Investors (is that like alternative comedy - craaaa-zier than the off-the-shelf variety?) some payback on their bravado? Well, I don't know. And neither does Martin, although he's promised to ask a guy he was at primary school with who's now mixed up in the sort of legalised criminal activity that comprises most stockbroking for advice that might give us the jump on other investors. The club say a prospectus is coming out in a couple of weeks, but in my experience those things have all the accuracy of a Tesco online order form and all the readability of those stupid text message things. All I know is that ending up in the red or black is not going to be the same as just picking which of them you have your kit shorts in.

And how much are Watford seriously trying to raise, and to what ends? Are we now all going to receive a dividend if the club turns a profit? So much so that Martin will suddenly be baying for the blood (or just the lucrative sale) of younger players he previously loved, wanted and valued as highly as our own...okay, maybe not our own children, but certainly the offspring of all our close friends? That's what investment means to people at the moment; sure, in our parents' day, it meant long-term commitment and gradual accrual of a mild, though not insubstantial, upside until you could afford to pay for a respectable-sized do for your daughter's wedding. Now? Now, everything is NOW, it has to make big bucks NOWNOWNOW. If you haven't made a killing the same week, the same day, you're a worm who deserves the fate of...I don't know, something nasty, though. You see, Ig, I can't think like that, even for a moment. Isn't this club he and you are so in love with supposed to have a different ethos from all that? I know, Martin's explained to me that this is a whole new world you're entering, that it's like leaving home to go straight into a marriage, or at least a lovenest, with a fabulously wealthy, incredibly sophisticated European superstar, and that you have to take the rough (how he treats some of your old friends) with the smooth (his plans for the two of you; his head), and no, you can't keep comparing your new love to Daddy, because that won't do anyone any favours, and Daddy's not coming back, no matter what, because he warned you, if you move in with that man, don't come crying to me, I'm moving to the Midlands and not leaving a forwarding address.

I know all that - but still, Ig, are you sure we should be co-operating? Please, tell me - what's it all about? And why do Martin's eyes go all glassy when he stares for too long into a photo of that funny-looking chief executive of yours?

Hope to hear from you soon.

Mrs MB