Rolling With My Buddies

Went up to Wembley last Friday for the Lionesses v Portugal. Stayed at the Wembley Stadium Premier Inn as usual. Outside the front door two doormen were checking everyone for booking references. When I did get past them the queue to check in was a mile long. I’d reached about the halfway point when, horrors, one of the three check-in desk clerks went walkies and left his two colleagues to it, but mercifully he returned before long.

Having eaten and unpacked I moseyed down to Blue Check, just in time to catch Deb from Free Lionesses and get a wristband qualifying me for 10% off drinks before she left for the stadium. Gary from London Seaward was there and we chatted over a pint, noting with great sadness what’s happened to the club we were in love with. Relegation is one thing, but the real chokers are a) manager Dan being let go last summer (he promptly got the manager’s role at London Bees and took half the team there) and b) Jo, who did so much for the club and got me back into going regularly, having given up football completely, even jacking in her job at the FA. Gary was in no doubt that neglect from chairman Richard, who never turns up to games, and vice-chairman Gareth, who is very rarely seen there, was to blame. They’ve just changed name to Athletico London and are seeking to recruit players, but Gary and I agreed we’d be surprised if the club made it through the 2025/26 season.

Gary said he’d just be watching Arsenal Women next season and that he’d been to Lisbon to see them win the Women’s Champions’ League. I said I guess I’ll be going to Portsmouth Women in WSL 2.

I hung out in the beer garden with Rachel, Leanne and Amir for a while and listened to their travellers’ tales, Rachel from Arsenal’s victorious trip to Lisbon, and Leanne and Amir from the World Sevens in Estoril.

My seat was pretty good, near the top of the lower tier behind one of the goals. I was hopeful about the match, as Portugal were without Kiki Nazareth, their danger woman who’d been instrumental in holding us to a draw over there. As the lady next to me remarked to me on the starting teams as they were being read out, I asked if she’d come far.

“Near Portsmouth.”

“Me too! I’m from Gosport.”

“So are we.” I couldn’t believe it. Her name was Emma and we were fast friends from that point on.

Aggie Beever-Jones and Lucy Bronze putting England two up within five minutes was the stuff of dreams. From then on the game was never in doubt. Emma and her group and I all sang along as the England Band played Sweet Caroline and England Till I Die.

Half time came, the Lionesses 5-0 up. When we each returned from the snack bars Emma and I talked about past England games. They’d been following the Lionesses since the French World Cup. They were Chelsea Women supporters (nobody’s perfect) so were impressed when I told them Carly Telford and I had always got on well when she played for England. They said Carly still comes to a lot of Chelsea games and they always talk to her.

I allowed myself to dream about double figures as the second half kicked off, but Sarina brought several subs on, clearly with the instruction just to keep a clean sheet. But the one goal England did add was a peach, Chloe Kelly heading home a Beth Mead cross. After her tribulations this season, it was lovely to see Chloe rewarded with a goal, keeping her star in the ascendant following on from her Champions’ League winner’s medal.

There was one moment of drama to come late on, as Leah Williamson was body-checked to the ground. Rising, Leah looked ready to murder the Portuguese player responsible and was admirably restrained by Alex Greenwood.

As Crystal hadn’t been in Blue Check I’d messaged her to ask if she was going somewhere after the game and she’d replied ‘Maybe Blue Check’. I sat in Blue Check for half an hour nursing a Magners and watching the other results come in on Sky Sports News until she messaged to say sorry, she was heading home.

I arrived outside Boxpark, where Rachel and Co had said they were heading, and was told by a doorman that the doors were closed as they were shutting in ten minutes. No loss : I could hear from outside that they were playing music at a deafening decibel level. I hung around outside till Rachel, Leanne and Co appeared and followed them to the Parish Club, a late opening Irish bar, where we had one more pint before turning in.

Sunday went to Gosport ice rink to meet Gem, whose partner Alex was playing goaltender for Solent Valkyries against Streatham Storm Development. The cafe, alas, was shut; fortunately I’d arrived in plenty of time to nip to the nearby Starbucks. Gem arrived as the teams were coming out, accompanied by friends Gemma and Jo who I’d met at a football match with them before Christmas. Gem kept trying to get Alex’s attention as Alex stood in goal ready for the face-off; she got a wave just in time.

It was an exciting game, with snatches of classic pop songs played every half minute or so including, joy of joys, Sit Down by James. Gem, who’d chosen our place to sit, close to the middle of the rink, noticed that occasionally a player came and sat in the front row right in front of us for a time.

“We’re sitting in the sin bin.”

“About right for me,” Jo grinned.

The game ended 7-7. Gem said that was great for the Valkyries as they’ve been losing heavily every week. We parted promising to meet again.

Flew to Barcelona on Monday for the Lionesses’ match with Spain. Bizarrely, the lady at the boarding gate at Gatwick, spotting my passport’s expiration date in February 2027, said to me “That will actually expire in January 2027.” As I was travelling light with just a carry-on, I needed sun lotion and toothpaste (to be left in the room on departure). At Barcelona airport it wasn’t long before I spotted the green cross sign of a pharmacy. I gratefully picked a tube of Factor 50 from a display stand and a tube of Sensodyne from the shelves. It wasn’t until I checked my receipt in the taxi that I realised the sun lotion had cost me 38 euro.

The hotel was a Travelodge, and much the same as its English sisters. The reception staff were friendly and, after I addressed them in Spanish, they switched to English. I was able to neatly offload most of my euro shrapnel as it was just enough to cover the city tax. Switched on the room TV and, incongruously in the outskirts of Barcelona, it was tuned to Real Madrid TV.

Just along the road from the hotel was a shopping mall with a wide variety of eateries. Got a take-away and, since the TV only had Spanish channels, spent the evening listening to music on YouTube and watching sitcom episodes on Dailymotion.

Tuesday daytime another lazy day in the hotel, with a return to the mall for lunch at a frankfurter joint. Stopped at the gas station on the corner just before the hotel where they turned out to sell cans of caffeine free Coke Zero.

As my hotel was a 13 minute walk from the RCDE Stadium I didn’t bother heading into the city centre for the fan meetup (tales in travel books and online forums of pickpockets operating in the city centre made that an easy choice). To walk to the stadium I had to go through the mall and up the escalator to the top level, where the exit to the stadium was.

I arrived just before 6 pm, an hour before kick-off. The stadium was an impressive sight in blue, with part players’ names above all the turnstiles, among them Chilean legend Carlos Caszely. England fans were gathered outside the away end catching the sun; there was a modest queue lined back from the turnstile, which I joined. As we were waiting one of the FA fan liaison guys recognised me and said hello. He asked where I’d come from; when I replied Portsmouth I remarked that he sounded like he was from up north.

“I am. Manchester.”

“Red or Blue?” I asked.

“I’m FROM Manchester. Blue.”

I told him I was a huge fan of Steph Houghton and he said he often sees her around.

At 6.10 they opened the gate and we were processed in by stewards waving magic wands at our e-tickets. I got my front felt again but had no questions asked this time (hadn’t brought my power bank to this game - an advantage of missing the meet-up, I’d been able to charge my phone to full power in the room).

The whole of the ground’s lower tier was packed out with Spanish fans. They’d opened up just one section of the upper tier, in a corner, and that was where we were placed. Our section had just one snack bar, selling just hot dogs, crisps and Haribo sweets. I went for a hot dog, very tasty.

A group I met as I began looking for my seat told me the seating was unreserved. I went to find Leanne and Rachel. As we chatted I asked if Deb was around.

“She is here, but I think she’s over there.” Leanne pointed across at the Royal Box. Given how much Deb does for us Lionesses fans, fair play to her.

Rachel went up to the top row, to stand with a group of Chelsea fans with a flag. I sat in the middle with Leanne and some friends of hers, including a Hungarian girl who was delighted that the referee and assistants were all countrywomen of hers.

There were about 300 of us in the away end and, during the build-up and as the game started, the excitement was palpable. We’d beaten the world champions at home in February; could we do it again on their own patch? When Alessia Russo broke away to open the scoring halfway through the first half, we all believed. Hannah Hampton made some super saves at the other end.

After the break Spain started to dominate and had us on the back foot from there on in. Claudia Pina came on as sub on the hour and set the game alight. She equalised straight away. We sat prepared to settle for an honourable draw but ten minutes later she struck again.

A group of people in our end outed themselves as home fans by jumping up and celebrating. A few people, Leanne included, went to alert the stewards to their presence, but the stewards refused to move them. Leanne sat back down fuming.

Our spirits in the stand flagged, matching those of our girls on the pitch, apart from the legend Basil who constantly exhorted us to keep singing and “keep fighting! We are Lionesses! Keep going until we score three goals!” Some of us sang in response to his song prompts but despite a lively Chloe Kelly coming in as sub, a comeback never looked likely.

The whistle went, no complaints, we’d been beaten by a better team. I said “bye Leanne, see you in Zürich” to Leanne and trooped out of the ground and back into the shopping mall for my customary post-match McDonald’s. The queue was a kilometre long.

Farewell to the hotel on Wednesday, hoping the member of hotel staff who finds my toiletries appreciates the de luxe sun cream. Flew home.

Back to work yesterday, loads to do as usual after a holiday. At least I clocked up some overtime.

Had a cold all week :( but dragged myself to Baffins on Tuesday evening for AFC Portchester v Moneyfields in the Portsmouth Cup Final. Just as well that I did. Lewis had brought along a bright orange Portchester bucket hat to sell me (at discount). There was a huge turnout of Portchy fans and we gathered behind the goal. We kept up a stream of songs, alternating ‘Portchester, la la la’ and ‘Take me home, Cranleigh Road’ with the individual players’ chants. As Amy our physio raced on to see to a player needing attention, one fan quipped “Not many teams’ physios wear hotpants”. Everyone went berserk when Connor Duffin headed home from a corner! Moneyfields started to fight back, Steve Mowthorpe and the defence held firm.

We changed ends for the second half. Lewis and a couple of the other lads exchanged stories about groundhopping in Germany and other places, and Lewis gave me a few Portchy stickers to stick up in Switzerland. With minutes remaining Connor Duffin saw red for a second yellow and several of us questioned whether he’d be around next season. There was a general consensus that we need to strengthen the squad for the Isthmian League. Tom Cain of Moneyfields, who’d been shithousing for much of the game, got a couple of choice songs from the Portchy faithful.

Into injury time, Moneyfields netted the threatened equaliser and we steeled ourselves for penalties. As it became apparent that the shoot-out would take place at the far end, Lewis’s idea was to watch from where we were, till Amy ran over and said “The lads want you down that end”. We all began trooping round the ground as one lad grinned “When a worldie says go down the other end, you go down the other end”.

We were still heading down the side when Tom Cain took the first kick of the shoot-out, which, to our absolute delight, Mowy saved. We were soon gathered behind the goal, living every kick, emotions wildly swinging from high to deep, then exploding with joy as Portchester won 3-2. We watched the presentation and celebrated with the lads with a chorus of “Champions again, ole ole”. Some of the fans hung around, wanting to carry on soaking up the atmosphere and probably have a celebration snifter in the bar, but I needed to be away so went around shaking hands and wishing comrades a good summer. Went out onto the main road to summon an Uber.

Working alone, my cold, a fairly mild one, didn’t keep me out of the office, but outside work it’s been all about the telly this week. Friday night’s sextuple helping of Top of the Pops was a belter. The first 1997 episode was lovely lady central, with Jo Whiley presenting and performances by Sheryl Crow and All Saints. With an anthemic rendition of Angels from Robbie Williams thrown in.

The following show opened with Natalie Imbruglia’s Torn, the soundtrack to my last quarter of 1997 in the bed-sit in Stratford - it was my pal Carly in the room next to mine who introduced me to the song. Seeing the episode from the week before Christmas in May is always amusing, but while I remembered the Teletubbies’ record Teletubbies Say Eh-Oh! I had certainly forgotten that it got to number one.

Next came 1980, hosted by Mike Read with plenty of new wave tracks, Jona Lewie’s quirky You’ll Always Find Me In The Kitchen At Parties (alas, no Kirsty this time), an equally eccentric Karel Fialka, the Cockney Rejects joyously bellowing I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles complete with the lead singer wearing a West Ham shirt, my favourite Matchbox song, Legs & Co doing a highly bizarre routine to Theme From M*A*S*H (as any dance routine to that song would have been; it called for a video, even if a home-made montage one) and Johnny Logan at #1 - a most welcome treat for us Eurovision fans in the week we’re suffering post-Contest withdrawal blues.

Any 1986 episode is a treat and we were presented with one of the best. David Hamilton on presentation duty. After the chart rundown, Tina Charles, my Pop Babe of ‘76, opened the proceedings with a winsome performance of Love Me Like A Lover, followed by one of my all-time favourites, Arms Of Mary by the Sutherland Brothers and Quiver. I didn’t remember the dance trio Ruby Flipper, though two of them went on to be in Legs & Co; I always thought Legs & Co took over directly from Pan’s People. Two of the decade’s best bands, Showaddywaddy and Mud, put in an appearance and we had Cliff singing Devil Woman. ABBA’s magnificent Fernando was number one - such a shame that, very unusually, it was truncated.

How do you top that? With a double bill from 1985. We couldn’t go wrong with Auntie Janice and Uncle John presenting (they even called themselves that at the start!) They were on top flirtatious form throughout, the young ladies in the audience were in classic 80s gear and it was good to see Paul Hardcastle’s 19 topping the chart.

The second 1985 episode was the jewel in the crown. So many tunes from the heyday of my chart pop fandom, taking me right back to David Jensen and the Network Chart on Radio Victory - Shaky’s Lipstick, Powder and Paint, a-ha’s Take On Me (at the time my school pal Rich formed a spoof band called ha-a, calling himself Horton Market), Elton John’s Nikita about love across the Iron Curtain (which no-one imagined would be dismantled four years later), Level 42, Grace Jones, Jan Hammer and Colonel Abrams. And to end the evening, my girlfriend Jennifer Rush at #1 with The Power of Love looking stunning in that red top and black leggings.

If there’s anything I love as much as pop nostalgia it’s football nostalgia. Yesterday morning ITV4 launched a new series of The Big Match Revisited and this time it’s the 1975/76 season. Although I wasn’t an avid viewer of The Big Match when I was four, the football from that era still has a magic for me. Spurs v Middlesbrough was a cracker, Luton v Hull good to see with a superb goal from Ron Futcher, Brian Moore just sublime as the avuncular host. It’s going to be a good few months.