Where to find happiness is a question that has vexed mankind since God was a foetus; for some it's in a warm gun, others a cigar called Hamlet, and for an unfortunate few, it's nowhere at all. That being the case, we're duty-bound to gorge on it whenever it happens to turn up, because we've got no idea when we'll come across it next.

And that's where football comes in, supplying us with a weekly thrill and legitimate reason to celebrate success; if glorying in personal achievement is only vanity in disguise, then true joy comes about through the achievements of others.

Second only to being a parent, the ultimate in vicarious delight, supporting a football team is of similar genus, the ability to claim ownership but not credit making it ok to enjoy things when they go right; the keenness of supporters to call players "son", "lad" and "kid" is no coincidence. It's unclear as to at what age this becomes unridiculous – at 30, I'm still too young – but it's impossible not to feel paternal towards the two bouncing bundles of curls and puppy fat otherwise known as the Da Silva twins.

There's simply nothing about them that doesn't make me smile; the notion of twins playing for United, the joy in their joy, the way that they play. There was even something loveable about Rafael's inept attempt to conceal his guilt after impetuously gifting Hull a penalty last weekend, as though denying to his mother that he'd snaffled her last slice of bolo.

Of course it helped that the resultant equaliser mattered less because he'd managed to spark the team into life at the end of a largely abominable first-half effort, his enterprise driving a period of pressure that culminated in the opening goal. In the event, Hull drawing level actually did United a favour, forcing some urgency and tempo into their play, even if there were still far too many long balls belted at no one in particular. Consequently, the introduction of Park helped matters, the team profiting from his excellent movement without ruining it by giving him the ball.

Despite years of watching terrible teams suddenly improve when confronted by United, I was still surprised by how well Hull played, and there are plenty of others I'd prefer to see relegated. Phil Orange may be a self-important cheesemeister, but following the on-pitch berating of his players - a rare acknowledgement of their accountability to supporters – it'll take more than an earpiece and some hair gel to make him as dislikeable as some.

Midweek against Wigan was a far more relaxing affair, United setting about their opponents in appropriate fashion from the off. Suitable punishment for Martinez's mouth earlier in the season, it was also richly deserved by whoever decided that preventing United from kicking towards the Stretford End in the second half would make any difference to the outcome.

It's no coincidence that Valencia's best performance so far came with an attacking threat behind him - I imagine he'll be as dismayed as I wasn't to learn that John O'Shea may be missing for a further two months. Rafael's propensity to remedy positional errors with immediate fouls will cost the occasional goal, but he's plenty good enough to learn on the job, and needs games not protection.

As was the case with United at Fulham, it's hard to read much into the performance of one side when the other was so poor, however much they were made to look so, but it was encouraging to see Rooney behaving in the manner of a proper centre forward, stealing across his man at the near post to score the first goal and trying to steal the second from Carrick. Now he just needs to score some headers.

With the game not on telly, it was another that had to be viewed on the laptop, this time accompanied by the realisation that I'd never before watched United from the toilet. I admit to being disproportionately overjoyed by this discovery, far more than I was on discovering my addiction to following the inane inanities of the imbecilic imbeciles posting their comments on the site. OMG!!!! MANU5-0 LOL LOL LOLS!!!!!!! indeed.

Force-fed a diet of boring cup draws over the last few years, the next few days provide the rare treat of ties against Leeds and City. There's some amusement to be had in beating both with reserve sides, but I imagine most would rather see a few first teamers involved – chances to give the former a well-deserved hiding are rare these days, as are chances to take direct responsibility for turning 33 years into 34.

That said, City may win the league. Well Mancini thinks so anyway; it appears to have taken all of a week for him to be fully indoctrinated into the cult of the Blue Moonies. Their fans, meanwhile, have been similarly duped in their usual way, the manager's scarf apparently suggesting Italian sophistication rather than badge-kissing tokenism garnished with symbolic noose. One thing we know for sure, though, is that Mancini must have a mighty fine larder of garibaldis, otherwise he'd have been forced to make do with Real Madrid, like Kaka.

Finally for this week, Arsene Wenger's suggestion that kick-ins be introduced into the game. The long throw, apparently, is "an unfair advantage", albeit one easily remedied by not buying small defenders and indulging dodgy goalkeepers, he didn't go on to say. Wenger frequently criticises opposition teams for their temerity in not playing in the exact way that would make them easiest to beat - this is but another example - and naturally it's the game's fault.

One of the beauties of football is the way its laws permit inferior teams to compete with those more technically adept, and forever must it remain so; if the better team always won, we'd be demanding an awful lot from those guns and cigars.