It’s not controversial to say that we live in difficult times. We’ve lost our ability to discuss differing opinions and slipped into a vortex of invective that makes everyone unhappy.

Coincidentally, I’m reading Mow Gawdat’s ‘Solve for Happy’; it’s not great, Gawdat’s thesis comes exclusively from his own observations, often through the lens of the death of his son due to medical negligence. While that tragedy provides licence to explore happiness, he also underplays his wildly successful corporate career. Not everyone has the security of wealth to give them scope to re-engineer the way they think.

Still, it has its moments. Happiness, he says, is the absence of unhappiness rather than a constant state of blissful rapture. Much of our unhappiness comes from fretting about the past or worrying about the future. Life has a set of immovables like getting old and even looking back fondly can make us unhappy about our present. His conclusion, therefore, is that happiness is where you are.

Emerging from September’s international break can be disconcerting; the transfer window closes with a last minute frenzy of activity and then there’s an eery silence, it’s easy to reassemble after the break and wonder just how long you’ve been asleep for. 

Cameron Brannagan’s free-kick against Coventry seems like an age away, back then (two weeks ago), Elliott Moore was captain, Ben Davies was a mere enigmatic waft in the air and Filip Krastev could easily be the answer I would give to the question ‘how do Bulgarian’s wish each other Happy Christmas?’

Before kick-off against Leicester, I was struck by the Bulgarians, Belgians and Poles fist bumping each other while a Slovenian folded himself onto the subs bench. Even Sam Long and Cameron Brannagan, a constant thread to a different time, looked different. Not because they’ve changed, but because everything around them had. Stand back for a moment and absorb how bewildering our evolution has been.

As much as it’s difficult to process what we’re becoming, Leicester City are even more confusing. They’re one of the most successful clubs of the 21^st Century and yet seem to be slowly settling into their dotage. The prospect of more trophies has drained away and they’ve become a yoyo club. But, where Leeds and Burnley seem fired by ambition, Leicester’s momentum is in the opposite direction. I’m not suggesting they need to be planning trips to Crawley or Fleetwood, but slipping into the netherworld of Watford, Stoke or West Brom seems likely.

Perhaps we were still digesting our breakfast for the lunch time kick-off, but they arrived without the lustre of other clubs with Premier League ambitions. Perhaps there’s a complacency that their destiny for promotion is pre-ordained. After all, in the last 30 years, of their five relegations, they’re been promoted straight back the next season four times. It’s a dangerous assumption to think they’ll do it again.

As a side they’re built like a Volvo; reliable, safe and unspectacular. Jannik Vestergaard, is such a monstrous presence, you suspect he spends his days crushing rocks with his bare hands. Maybe the plan was to simply sit on us until we expired.

Instead, we looked sharp and alert with a lightness in our play. We were quick to the ball and quicker to the second ball. Whether that made them look ordinary or they were ordinary is harder to say, but it was a marked difference to the slightly fawning defensive struggles of earlier in the season (and much of last season). It felt like we belonged. 

It is, of course, the injection of quality that makes all the difference. Brian De Keersmaecker frees others to do their work. It allows Cameron Brannagan to look up and Matt Phillips to focus on what he can do, rather than wrestle with what he can’t. With Krastev on the opposite side, we’re less reliant on Placheta’s pace to get us out of sticky situations. 

It all allows us to play further up the pitch. As we pushed, they relented and seemed to lack the ability to spring us when we went forward. It didn’t take long for confidence to grow, Phillips’ instinctive volley was parried by Stolarczyk allowing Helik, of all people, to follow up and square the ball to Lankshear who slotted home in a style which screams ‘January recall’. I found myself checking both linesmen and the referee before celebrating, it seemed so straight forward, I assumed something must have gone wrong. 

Leicester’s response was to continue to plod away, playing at half-speed. What they needed was someone with a bit of spark to pick a ball and make the difference. 

They probably weren’t banking on that player being Cameron Brannagan. If you’ve missed all three hundred social media posts about it, CaptainCamBran is our new skipper. For no obvious reason, he celebrated by under hitting a pointless pass into the path of Jordan Ayew for the equaliser. It was an inauspicious start.

But despite the reprieve, Leicester pondered as we danced in the gaps. Placheta rattled the bar and for once we were picking up scraps and recycling the ball into our possession. It felt odd to be us, but good none-the-less. Krastev showed plenty of promise enticing Aaron Ramsey to scythe him down as he threatened to break down the right. Suddenly there were yellow shirts everywhere, everyone had morphed into Brannagan at his most petulant. This was his leadership in action. We engulfed the referee, it was great, we were owning the game, bending it to our will. Ramsey’s fate was sealed.

And as if to illustrate our transformation, we didn’t concede on half-time, we actually re-took the lead. Ben Davies’ header glanced off Sourmare and into the net leaving Stolarczyk flailing on his knees like he was re-enacting the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan. 2-1 and the best half of the season, and maybe even the best half since we’ve been back in the Championship. 

The problem will always be how long we can sustain the intensity. Shortly after half-time, Vestergaard crunched Phillips who hobbled off to a standing ovation and the momentum shifted. As we readjusted, they finally showed something of their Premier League credentials, cutting through us to allow Pereira to score.

While we failed to recreate the momentum of the first half, they failed to recreate that moment of class and the game lost its sparkle. Even in the final minutes, the sense of sickness that we could throw it all away never materialised. The vibrancy had gone, but the assuredness remained. When Hamza Choudhury was substituted, he bought time, working his way around his team mates to shaking their hands before walking as slowly as possible off the pitch. It was a sign they’d conceded and were happy to take their point. 

The point could have been three, but despite that, there was a underlying statement that we aren’t going to succumb to ‘second season syndrome’ easily and that as a club we continue to move forward. If happiness is where we are, we should be pretty content right now.