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When I was a kid I spoiled one of the ‘big weeks’ of my life. 

I loved American comics, particularly ones featuring Superman.  One day on a trip to Peckham I saw a life-size Superman poseable figure and knew it was the best toy ever invented. I wanted it and nothing else would do. Over the next couple of weeks I nagged, dropped hints, sulked, pleaded and engaged in some utterly selfish kiddie behaviour. Eventually, driven to desperation, my mum told me she had already bought for me and I had ruined her birthday surprise for me.  I can remember sloping away feeling guilty, stupid and greedy.

The life of a QPR supporter in recent times has been filled with proverbial ‘big weeks’ for the club.  It’s been a mixture of sweet and bitter big weeks, with most of the sweeter variety arriving since September 2007.

Before then, the big weeks comprised police investigations, court cases, VAT winding up orders, take over bids fading away, kung fu fights with Chinese Olympic teams…oh you get the gist.

Since then our big weeks have included successful take-over bids that exceeded our wildest expectations, new managerial appointments (thanks for all you did LDC), some great loan signings and the type of permanent signings that once seemed forever beyond the reach of the club.

So will this week be a big week of the good variety. I have no idea.  But I want it to be. I want some of the promises I think we’ve been made to come to fruition this week. I want to see a Real Madrid defender come on board.  I want Watson, Shittu, Cook, Zamora, Evans or whoever else represents a serious step in the right direction to join our ranks. I suppose I want the bookies to be right in making us promotion favourites and I know we don’t have quite the right personnel to make that happen at the moment.

I’m not ungrateful - I appreciate that where we are now is fantastic in relative terms.  I suppose I just hope that our new owners are wily old souls. I hope they are telling the world it’s a three-year plan, whilst privately they are bursting to be in the Premiership by 2009-10. 

Maybe this week will be the big week, I suppose we’ll have to wait and see. But I’ve decided not to repeat the mistakes of my childhood.  If a metaphorical Superman come along this week - well that’s OK.  If they don’t I’ll be patient. Who knows what surprises might wait next week, or the week after that…

A few months ago at a home game against Southampton, R’s fans experienced two very different emotions.  First, the tributes to Ray Jones - with commendable support from Saints fans - and the sight of Ray’s family on the pitch brought a lump to the throat of even the most hardened supporters.

Later that same day, a sun-tanned Italian saviour took the grateful applause of long suffering supporters, who had feared for the very existence of their club.  Perhaps if we had known quite how bad things were (no money to mend photocopiers and no authorisation to use credit card facilities) we might have applauded even louder.

The next few months saw an upward curve of improvements in playing staff, management and quality of football.  Behind the scenes it seemed a robust and commercially sensible approach to rebuilding the club was kicking into action.  Flavio and others said nearly all the right things and even Gianni was not dropping as many bombshell comments as we had become used to.  The tone of the QPRNet messageboard and others was one of general positivity and confidence.

The outside world started calling us the richest club in the world and we started singing “we’ve got loads of money”.  (Initially this song seemed ironic to me - so I sung it.  When it felt like some people might actually mean it in a Chelsea kind of way, I stopped). Flavio, Bernie and Lakshmi Mittal had carried us into dreamland.  Loftus Road seemed to be at the end of the rainbow and we were enjoying life.

But perspectives change quickly and grattitude can turn into scepticism through just a few acts and words.  Flavio appeared to suggest that ordinary supporters are not as important as big time investors in a little-known marketing magazine.  Some of us were perturbed, but maybe he was misquoted or misunderstood?  Soon after, the season ticket rises are announced  - and it seems he might well have meant exactly what was written?

Our mood changed to that of a fanbase feeling betrayed and exploited.  Supporters who sat in their cherished seats during years of football that, in itself, could rarely be described as ‘cherished’ were told pay up more, move, or say goodbye.  The prices contradicted promises that rises would be “reasonable” and, for many, trust and respect for our new owners took a serious downturn. The saviours became the exploiters. 

Now we demand value for money next season, rather than remain simply happy that we still exist and reside in English football’s second tier.  Now each official announcement is viewed with a concern that some unspoken agenda is being played out.

I expressed my concerns to a Chelsea supporting friend of mine. (He’s actually a decent bloke when you ignore his choice of football team).  After his dispassionate analysis of things, my perspective changed again - at least a bit. 

What were we expecting?  Our owners would simply pour endless millions into a loss-making entity until they lost interest and left us in another precarious position.  Did we not realise that building a lasting foundation would require more of us to pay more?  Did we not realise that they would change a lot of things - some of which we wouldn’t like?

To be honest I was initially a bit cheesed off at what he said, but some of his thoughts had that annoying ring of truth.  I think at some commercial level the club has done roughly the right thing, although the approach and delivery could have been handled much, much better.

So now, I’ll wait. Siting on the fence, I’ll see where they go next.  My paranoia fears that good people will be priced out, and a new rich elite wil be attracted to London’s most trendy club.  But I hope that new streams of support will mingle with those who have braved ‘Grimsby away’ and other less glamorous afternoons and nights of agricultual football.

I hope the next things that shift my perspective are positive ones -  not things that start to distance me from a friendly West London club, that has often punched above its weight.