By En France
February 8 2005

The trog from the Stade Aime Giral towards the town centre took less time than the way in – but was devoid of that exciting inner expectation of a result against all odds. We had lost a game we could have won on another day. We were destroyed.

We’d spent a small fortune to support our premier sporting team.

Perhaps less money than fans from Angleterre – but enough to make a huge dent in our monthly expenditure.

 

And The Team didn’t even acknowledge the travelling fans at the end of the game.

How sad.

I don’t want to make a huge issue out of it.

But it hurt at the time.

 

Normal working people had spent many hours and lots of dosh to be there.

Some working people (i.e. Monkey) had spent a lot of money and a lot of time NOT to be there!  

 

My humour does not compensate for the lack of a simple wave.

Thank you to MM for making a valiant solo effort in that respect.

I thanked him personally later in the evening.

But if us mortals can make so much effort, then why can’t the immortals?

 

Okay – back to the after match festivities.

 

On our way along the main road to Bar Imberon we met a scraggy dog.

It was a bitch.

It didn’t care who we were or where we were from.

It was clearly in need of a friend.

And only had 3 legs.

We called it Tripod J

 

After a swift carafe to drown our sorrows in the Bar Imberon we went to a local restaurant and had fantastic food at relatively little cost.

The staff were plonk on.

They knew the result.

And we were still wearing Falcons shirts.

The fact we spoke French to them was a huge ice-breaker.

Even though they were perhaps Romanian or Slovakian.

And we spoke better French than them………..

 

And Tripod came with us.

And had a right Royal Feast under our table.

Cos in France, dogs in restaurants are as welcome as anyone else.

Tripod left our company at the end of the meal with a smile on her face and wandered off into the roadworks  beside the canal.

We’d done our bit.

We smiled too.

It made us feel warm and cuddly inside.

 

The Bar Imberon was still open.

We naturally had a few beers and a bit of chat with the great people we’d met along the way. Despite the result everyone was determined to have a good time.

But it appeared that the old French Lock was running out of steam.

He tried to close the Bar!

So we had to find another!!

 

At this point we had a totally unexpected and worthwhile chance meeting.

My dear wife, still in her stack heeled wellies, decided it was time for bed.

Her feet were blistered beyond belief.

But I declined the offer of bed (for once in my life!)

 

We had met the Falcons Supporters Club by accident - on a river bridge.

We were going in opposite directions.

And they reckoned the Irish Bar was open until late.

We had no idea an Irish Bar existed.

So we discussed which way to go over the bridge.

My internal male ego compass kicked in.

I can smell proper beer.

And that gave me a clue.

 

A few convoluted cobbled alleyways later we arrived.

And it was heaven.

Guinness, Beamish Red and whatever else we wanted.

But at 6euros a pint, the French appeared to have given this place a miss.

The lady leading the offy Supporter's Group wore a striped top and would only drink the best Champagne.

 

 

In my drunken state I decided she was mad, totally committed to her goal or earned too much money J

As the night wore on, I realised she was just a wonderfully typical Geordie gal on tour.

If  I could remember her name, she would get a huge namecheck.

As it is, she gets my utmost respect.

I hope the others present give her as much respect.

What a Girl!

 

Eventually half the Falcons team turned up at the Irish Bar.

Chat was had.

Fun was had.

We all gave them a warm welcome.

Thrashed or not.

 

Joe Shaw, James Issacson and Hall Charlton deserve a special mention.

Haircut for being the best PR person the Falcons have had in my experience, Jim for wearing a woolly hat which matched his T shirt and Hall for sitting with French people discussing whatever(!).

I know what he was discussing but I refuse to go any further in that direction.

 

We left the Irish Bar cos it was time to sleep.

And it then became clear that the cobbles had been replaced in the last couple of hours.

I was unable to walk in a straight line.

This had nothing to do with the Irish Bar beer and everything to do with the cobbles being made more bobbly.

 

Wendy’s blistered feet in stack heeled wellies were more stable than I was on those cobbles. I think that explains adequately the state I found myself in.

 

The bed was great.

Hard as nails and with a duvet.

Just like the one at home.

We slept long and hard.

Despite the smell.

 

But in the morning we found that the bathroom had no lights and the shower was a trickle.  And the bathroom did not have an extraction fan.

Sorry Wendy.

That really did smell worse than the Hotel J

 

This trip was a wonderful experience.

It was magical.

Mainly because of the people we met.

It was a pleasure to call myself an adoptive Geordie for the day.

I was born in Sheffield.

But since the professional era we’ve been part of the Falcons development.

And we were proud to be part of it on this day.

Because of the wonderful people who made the effort to travel so far, at so much personal cost and inconvenience, to be there.

 

Long may it continue.