We'd set off from home in the early hours having decided some months previous that this game, being based in northern France, would be much easier to get to by car and using Le Shuttle to do so. We arrived at Dover to find it a little busy. At the check in point though we found we could make an earlier train if we desired and opted to do that. It left just enough time to visit the loo and buy a coffee and a breakfast bun before we were called. But that's where our luck ran out. The extra precautions put in place, coupled with a seemingly mass exodus from these shores by car enthusiasts heading for Le Mans, meant that the crawl through security and passport control took a long long time. And for what purpose? The check went something like this;
Police Officer: 'Going to the game lads?'
Us; Yes
Police Officer: 'Have you got tickets?'
Us: Yes
Police Officer: 'Did you go to the last game?'
Us; Yes
Police Officer: Enjoy!
Now, what possible use were those questions? I'm obviously oblivious to the security operations surrounding leaving the country to go for a game of football but that little exchange, carried out thousands of times that morning delayed everybody in Dover by about an hour. And for what?
Once on the road we made good progress, the weather was a bit miserable but French roads are always good making travelling seem so much better in the EU!! We took a turn off the autoroute heading for Lens to find our progress blocked by the Gendarmerie. They spoke little English but our knowledge of French indicated we had been stopped for a vehicle search and a passport check. Both went well although slightly longer than I would have preferred. It does seem a little extreme to make sure that the alcohol ban was to be rigidly enforced so that all English cars were searched by armed Police.
We parked close by the stadium in a residents parking area and made our way into the town. A further security cordon meant another body search by the local Police designed to stop us carrying beer into the town. How utterly fruitless! So heading for a local bar to meet with friends it became obvious that all of these checks and extra precautions meant very little when alcohol was freely available once you'd arrived, a pleasant day meant everyone was in the streets enjoying each others company accompanied by several beers.
And today was different, it felt very very British, much like a Saturday afternoon at home mingling with the opposition, sharing a joke or two and discussing the game which we were all looking forward to.
And we made our way to the stadium, remembering the last time we were here, even down to the little pinch points on the journey, the ones where impatience meant climbing slippery grass slopes and falling over much to the amusement of everyone else.
Even the stadium seems very British with its distinct stands set on 4 sides, fans being very close to the action and an atmosphere to rival any English game. This was different yet very familiar all at the same time, an English moment set in a northern French town, and all the better for that.
And, because of the result it was a smiling set of English supporters who left the stadium. Smiling from ear to ear because of the result, but also because it had been a good day, a good day despite those security concerns, a good day because it felt just right. Maybe now the competition could be what it was always meant to be, about the football, about supporting your team whilst enjoying the company of your friends and companions, but also with your opposite number, enjoying their company too. And with that we made our way home, enduring yet more problems in Calais but nothing would wipe the smiles from our faces, at least not for a few days yet.
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