This time at Stansted, Essex where I arrive at 10pm and sit in a corner of the bar writing my journal and people watching.
I realise that I am amongst several small groups of football supporters most of them are booked on an early flight to Hamburg with the intention of getting a train from there to Berlin where Germany are playing England the next evening. Two of the fans are Welsh and heading for Denmark.
I am not a great football fan, although soccer was the first sporting event I watched, taken by my maternal grandfather to watch Drumcondra at Tolka Park after Mass one Sunday when I was aged 8 or so. There followed several years of following Cardiff City at Ninian Park, I especially liked the games under lights and I have memories of the young John Toshack and the older John Charles playing for the Bluebirds. But it was rugby that drew me away and it’s no surprise when comparing City in the old second division with arguably the best club playing on the most famous ground in world rugby.
To return to the fans, and that’s what they were, genuine supporters of unfashionable clubs. One of the Welshmen had visited all 92 league club grounds but was having to revist some of the clubs that had moved to new stadia. These guys loved the game, not for them the prawn sandwiches at Old Trafford or Stamford Bridge.
I found my 30 minutes or so of eavesdropping refreshing, and both teams won their games so the travellers will have returned happy.
The Incisal Edge 