Well its a year more or less to the day (definately the month) since that terrific weekend that fell midweek, I am booked up for Amsterdam in March so I thought I would review the trip from last September, Paris, The Parc de Princes, France nil Scotland one! Remember? Here is my version of events. A year on I am still a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing, when people ask what its like I cant really get much further past; it was brilliant! words I find are hard to come by, I suppose the best I have ever come up with is best Wednesday ever, but it was so much more than that, so much more! So what I will do is simply outline my every movement and feeling and see how it goes. See if I can paint a picture.
We left Killie in buoyant mood bout half 1, I say we, the we is myself, our Stephen, our David, Blackie, Kenny, Jimmy and Shortie, on the Tuesday, bus up to Glasgow Airport was a laugh, our time at the actual airport was a also, (ah pints of cider, I will miss you on this trip!) pissed about as usual and ended up last on plane, Air France though is top quality by the way, free booze all the way, dancer! Schipo Airport in Amsterdam is enormous, (you may wonder why in Amsterdam, connecting flight is all) absolutely massive, still we motored to our area and managed another few sky high priced pints there, Heineken, lovely. On the plane and its another beer and the hour to Paris, (Charlie de Gaulle Airport no less, no Bourgas Airport for us guys) flies past, quite literally.
Come off the flight picked up the bags, took some shitey photos and start looking for a taxi that would take five (Jimmy and Shortie aren’t staying at the same hotel as us so we are back down to five). Turns out its not fucking easy! But eventually got one and we took the hurl to our hotel, which incidentally wasn’t close by nor fuck all, Paris is gigantic! The taxi to the hotel was strange, it was a woman driver and she smoked like a lum the whole way there, very odd considering we now live in no smoking in public places Scotland. Anyway, got there ditched the bags, scooted the deodorant and out for beer; it was midnight by now, we had sobered up, or so we had thought because after a few it was normal service resumed, 6euro a pint too, pricey, so after a short while it was vino blanco for the troops. (me personally, I don’t drink wine, I think it tastes like heartburn if that makes sense but needs must and 6euros a pint is the catalyst for my new love affair with cheap plonk) As I say, there was 5 of us so we just bulldozered our way through a fair few of them! We sang songs, Scotland and Killie, because, weirdly enough, they other Scotland fans in the bar were fellow Killie fans and some Ayr cunts!
At this juncture I would like to point out the amount of frenchies I had encountered so far. Lets see, we have the taxi driver, hotel guy, barman. Ok, we have three, three frenchies so far.
Anyway, before long we were all pished, I had started arguments among ourselves, by getting on ma soapbox and proclaiming that I have the moral right in every single thing, but those that know me know that that’s nothing new. Back to hotel bout 3am, shouted that I hated every one from my veranda (why I don’t know) and then bed. Awoke the next morning and had my shower and brushed my teeth, you know the usual, then went to get the carry out, THE most important thing! Also, I had a MacDonald’s for lunch, my second and last meal in Paris, had a MacD’s the night before also, safety first I say, no point putting weird stuff in your belly when your only going to slosh it about with bevvy, especially if your flying the next day, which we were, you have to hand it to me, I am always thinking.
As I was saying, the carry out, it was me Blackie’s and Kenny’s, about 70 or so bottles of beer, Kronenbourg for the most part, which was sore and Frankenbrau I think which was sore too. Here we jumped onto the Metro and headed toward the Tour D'Eiffel or Eiffel Tower to us, or the big fucking pylon as it was actually known. I got us the tickets for the metro using my shitty French; “cinq billettes pour tour d'eiffel” I said, and it worked! I should put multilingual on my CV! The Metro was cool and when we reached our destination we got off and moseyed over and stood directly under the tower till the rest of the troops that we knew appeared from their part of the city, I also met my mate Andy from uni here while we waited and Big Tetley but when all the boys had turned up we headed up to the grass which looks onto the pylon where it seemed the whole of Ayrshire was congregated!
A few fitba’s were getting punted about, kicked as far and high and then back again, there was hundreds of Chinese and Japanese and French and Argentinean folk wanting to take photos because it really was a great sight, Scotland fans kilted up for as far as the eye could see. One, I think it was a Japanese chap, even got his camera, which I very much doubt was cheap, belted with a ball, which was hilarious. Next a football match kicked off, shirts v skins, Shortie, some of u may know him as dj angel eyes, others as that prick fae capie was the goalie for the skins, though thankfully he kept his shirt on! Christ knows who won, but Shortie pulled off some fantastic saves, Chambers (a good friend of us all who decided he wanted to go the Saturday before the game, found a group of guys who were leaving in a camper van from Killie on the Tuesday night, he went with them, a further point to that story is that he thought that the van went away at ten so he knocked on the door of the Kadikoi bar at ten am, nup, try again bud, ten pm it goes away bud! Unlucky!) streaked twice also. On the subject of Chambers streaking, me and Ally (another I haven’t mentioned yet, here goes; Ally, Gaz, Kyle Fuji and Eggy came via Prague where they were for Ally’s 21st birthday) hid his clothes and told him he would get them back if he streaked round the sun bus with Miss Scotland in it which he duly did. However, it must be said Chambers does think that streaking involves taking massive galloping jump steps instead of simply running and walking as normal so his streaks always look weird. Other things that stand out in my memory was seeing was a wee guy bout 11 drinking bottles of beer and the sight up an old grannies skirt. Not nice.
My face paint was fading, though I only had a small St Andrews cross on my cheek, so I wiped it off, Kenny had a massive thing on his cheek which lasted forever, and Paton (our David), well, good god, he had three quarters of the St Andrews cross on his entire face, he looked like the tartan wolverine! What a pleb, but he wore it well and loved it! Eggy wanted one too, so Kenny did the white first only he drew a swastika, funny as fuck it was but he clocked it early so boo!
Quick recap on the frenchies iv been in contact with. 3 from last update plus the metro train guy and the guy who sold us the carry out. So we have a running total equalling 5.
Going through your head the entire day was simply "how good is this!" everyone had big cheesy smiles me included, the atmosphere was fantastic, the songs hilarious and everything about it was simply brilliant. My skin was prickling and anticipation was brewing, everyone you met and spoke to were having the time of their lives, everyone you met had a ticket for the game. Many were just like me, meaning this was their first Scotland away game, and they couldn’t believe how fantastic it was, but by the same token many people who had been everywhere agreed that they had never seen anything like this.
Right let me fill you in on a few finer details you wouldn’t have saw in the reports in the newspapers, for one taking a pish was a trick I tell ya, it was bushes to the right we used which was alright to begin with because you could get right in, but like the pee trees at t in the park it slowly became a swamp and u were eventually taking a pish in open space, in reality this posed me no problems, I was dehydrated anyway, too much the night before, I had had seven (7) beers before my first pee so subsequent pees were when I was drunk so it mattered not! Chambers wont thank me for saying but early afternoon he took a shite in the bushes. Jakie bastard.
Anyway, onwards and upwards, there was a shout that the march to the stadium had started, guiy early if ye ask me, “we’ll just wait a bit and finish our carry out“, actually no, no we wont. The reason why we wont is because there is hundreds of police all dressed in black heading our way with guns! To be fair they were alright, and let you take their photo which was nice! But they formed a line and herded you out the way, argument was futile and also a crap idea, suffice to say we were on the march.
So the walk began, 3 miles it was, three miles, no cunt told me! But the French have these snazzy wee straps on their beer cases so we loaded it up with what was left lying about (scavengers? Yes we know) and made our way with the rest, drinking as we went, that march was something else, all the anticipation that was building on the lawn at the pylon exploded and it was pandemonium, the photos don’t do it justice. Mostly it was just a walk though, a big long massive walk, and if you walk that distance while imbibing beer then pee stops have to be taken into account, you have to be quick too or you will lose every one you know. I shall also add that Fuji in the shopping trolley because he was too steaming was a wee highlight.
Can I just say it was fucking roasting over there, ma shirt was off from noon on the Wednesday to midnight I think, when strangely it turned Baltic.
I remember having to stop further up and this is where I found out that ma brother was the drunkest man there and couldn’t stand up straight. I tried to fob him off onto someone else but ended up having to deal with him myself, cunt of a boy. He was sticking his pelvis out, and walking around like that like a backward c it was extremely difficult to get him moving but by now we had finished our walk at the ground.
Reading that you may wonder what happened when we got to the parc de princes, but actually getting Stephen in the ground was surprisingly easy, however in there he was a nightmare, he fell over the seats in front and the people in them, before the national anthems, then tumbled over four rows later in the first half, taking me with him for two, he actually ended up on the gangway in front as we were in the upper tier five rows from the front (painting a picture here) I went down with him and managed to get a Scottish guy to sit him down between his legs, the seats were raised by the way, and hold him down, he was a big chap, bald and pretty hardy looking, and I would like to thank him.
Round about us was an old French couple, three young guys and another French group all in all about 7 add that to the 5 we have a running total of 12.
The pest was dealt with so I can now try and enjoy the game, it was relatively easy to do to b honest, David Trezeguet was playing, and I am of the opinion that he is absolutely garbage so I was glad, cant get beat by a team with him in it surely. Also everyone in white was playing amazing.
2nd half, the goal, now I don’t remember the kick out but when McFadden hit it, I
actually remember looking at the keeper and thinking, he isn’t getting it, he isn’t getting it, that’s going in, its going in, its in, its in, its fucking in, its fucking in, its a goal, we have scored, holy fucking shit we have scored! all in like two seconds, then the place went ballistic!The floor was moving, I got typically all emotional and started calling everyone brother and other shite that I am prone to. what a wank, anyway, after that it was easy, the injury time took forever but really it was cool. Viera is din (Scottish for past it), Trezeguet is Trezeguet (pish) and Thuram is din too.
We stayed and partied to god knows when then the same as at the pylon the guys with guns shepherded ye out, no probs my gun toting friend I on my way, singing and dancing outside was fantastic.The walk back to the pylon wasn’t , it was long, I spent a fortune on ma phone, again telling everyone what they already knew, they should have been here, plus that I loved them, winker. At the pylon, we waited on a taxi, a guy was sleeping on the grass, I cuddled him for a photo, a photo that never turned out to well so was a bit of a waste of time, we also set off a smoke bomb beside him, don’t know why we had one, taxis in Paris are hard to come by, in fact if you told me at the time that there was only six taxi in the whole city I would have believed you no questions asked. We waited ages.
I never had another drink after the fitba, totally overwhelmed and done in by the result and the day in general. by the time we got back tot he hotel me Stephen and Blackie went to bed.
Kenny and David went out. I have since seen the photos and am jealous to an extent, maybe a completely missed opportunity on my part but still, its hard to describe the feeling of being totally overwhelmed other that to keep saying it till you get the message. Suppose the three of us missed out but it doesn’t feel like it, not even now.
Next day woke up to go home, Stephen was a horrible mess, saying we should leave him because he would get a later plane, aye right, he did spew all the way home, and the free drink that Air France put on was declined by all five of us!
Got home, the journeys pretty much uninteresting apart form Stephen going chunky chunky every few yards.
12 added to the taxi driver plus a few tramps meant that by bed i had seen 15 frenches, the next days taxi driver plus the lassie that sold the rolls at the airport means in total I saw 17 French folk in ma time in France. that sounds alright to me.
In conclusion it was a fantastic time I had, unsure how it could b replicated, Holland?
I shall just thank the people who were with me and that I met over there, the people that made it, my brothers if you will.Stephen, David, Blackie and Kenny, Jimmy and Shortie, Ally, Eggy, Gaz, Boycie, Fuji and Kyle, Tetley, Choppy, Higgy, Marc Hannah’s dad, Fauldsy, mad dog, Iain Reid, Chunk, Grant, Andy, the Argentinean bloke there for the rugger, Chalmers (how could I forget him) and anyone I have missed, I will edit them in.
Fantastic place and fantastic time.
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