Hunter Davies is back from his hols to find Rooney the only bright spot in a dull month

Hold on a wee minute, trying to get my scarf right before I start. I feel cold, after three weeks in the West Indies, so I've put it on while I crank up the old Amstrad PCW9512. Amazingly, it still works. When it does pack up, it's going straight to the V&A.

I got a very nice long stripy scarf from Santa, so I thought, I know, I'll wear it like Beckham and José. I had thought their scarves were specially made to hang in that trendy way. Then, on my return, I saw Glenn Roeder, Newcastle's manager, standing on the touchline wearing his scarf the same way. Which was a larf. He's the least fashionable manager on the planet. Even Big Sam, in his suits and shirts that never quite fit, is roughly of the modern age, say 1980s. Roeder's look is strictly 1940s demob outfit, with haircut and sticky-out ears to match.

Glenn, or his missus, had clearly made a big effort to tie his scarf in the fashionable way for the telly - but he'd got it all wrong. It was strangling him. The scarf was too short and woolly. They need to be long and thin, like mine.

Ah, I now think I've got it. The secret is to double it, put it round your neck, pushing the loose ends through the loop, then pull it tight.

Yes, I had a good hol, thanks for asking, but as ever it's so weird being back, mainly cos nothing has happened. All that January transfer excitement, which filled the back pages for weeks, has turned out to be a nonsense. None of the top clubs bought anyone, while the struggling clubs bought lumps, old sweats you expect to get bought and sold at this time of the year, because they are cheap and available, like Ben Thatcher (Man City to Charlton) or David Unsworth (Sheffield United to Wigan). The only interesting transfer has been Ashley Young, from Watford to Villa. I liked the look of him this season, but £9.65m is potty for someone so young and inexperienced.

I turned on the telly last Saturday, on my return, straight from the airport, and clearly heard a player, when being told off by the ref, replying "OK, sir". I thought there had been a social revolution while I'd been away.

Then I realised I was watching rugby, England v Scotland. It was the England scrum-half being ever so polite. That used to happen in football, about 100 years ago. The Corinthians never argued or answered back and if by chance the other team went a man short, the Corinthians would do the same, voluntarily sending someone off.

I switched to Boro-Arsenal and there was Thierry Henry, his arms in the air, clapping one of his lesser gifted colleagues in his superior schoolmasterly manner - exactly the same pose he was in when I left. Or it could have been his Madame Tussauds dummy, brought on by cunning old Arsène when Thierry tired.

Man United are still top, no surprise there, and oh goodie, Wayne Rooney is on form and scoring at last. I'm off to see him next week, as I'm committed to doing an extra chapter for the paperback of his autobiog.

I know, I'll wear my scarf, tied the right way, which will impress him. What am I saying, he won't even notice. One of the refreshing things about Wayne, most unusual in a footballer, is his lack of interest in fashion. You can tell that from his hairstyle, which he hasn't changed since he was six. Going to training each day, he wears carpet slippers, gets the piss taken, but does he care, does he heckers.

I hope Coleen is there. She'll notice my scarf. And probably tell me it's sooooo 2005. How could I? Well, I have been away . . .

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