August 29th 2025 Lens v Brest

In the end, Lens had finished the 24-25 season five points behind Strasbourg, who qualified for the Europa Conference. Lens hadn't exactly set Europe alight the previous season so, as Pierre kept saying, we were concentrating on the Cup this season. Fat chance there, we all thought. 

The big guns had gone... Medina to Marseille, initially on a year's loan and El Aynaoui to Roma (€23.5million). Matthew Ryan's brief stay in Northern France was also over as he departed for Levante. I was pleased to see M'Bala N'Zola depart back to Fiorentina. A forward who had never lived up to any expectations we may have had, there were also rumours of him unsettling the rest of the squad. Also on the way out was the nice haired Koyalipou. A player who had popped in with a four goals in 15 starts (including a surprise winner at Lyon), I had hoped that he might stay and become my new favourite with his dreadlocks but it was not to be. Also on his way, was forward Martin Satriano. Transferred for €5million euros from Inter Milan, he seemed to have spent the whole year on the sidelines, injured. In fact his last five years had been spent at five clubs. Only 24 years old, he was too young to be called a journeyman but was doing a very good impression of it. He appeared in seven games for Lens and scored in none of them.

 Seko Fofana's ex-foil, Samed went straight from an unsuccessful loan spell at Sunderland to see if reuniting with Franck Haise at Nice revived his fortunes. Andy Diouf, who had struggled to make an impact, left for Inter Milan for an incredible €20million, in my opinion, so hopefully the club's coffer's were looking a bit healthier. 

Will Still's rumoured departure to Southampton was quickly completed as he left to be closer to his wife, Sky Sports' Emma Saunders, who was battling encephalitis. I never felt he looked totally comfortable at Lens but had done a decent job during a difficult time. 

I didn't know much about the new guy coming in but Pierre Sage sounded like a great French name to have. Sage translating into English as 'wise' also could be a plus point. The 46-year old had been at Lyon for a year, leading them to the Europa League, as runners-up in the french FA Cup but then getting sacked after a a poor run of form the following January. A Lyon fan I talked to, in a car rental, whilst on holiday said he liked him, so that was good enough for me. 

Of the players who arrived, I knew very little about any of them. Robin Risser arrived for €3million from Strasbourg. On loan to Ligue 2 outfit, Red Star, the previous year, he had also appeared for France's Under 21s; a player with potential? Also arriving was defender Samson Baidoo from RB Salzburg,  another goalkeeper, Regis Gurtner from Amiens, defenders Matthieu Udol(Metz €3.5m) and Saud Abdulhamid (Roma - 2.5m), midfielder Mamadou Sangaré (SK Rapid - €8m) and forward Odsonne Edouard (Crystal Palace - €3.7m).

I had no idea about any of them, just as I had the previous transfer window, which hadn't beena great success. Now most of the players signed were leaving for pastures new. The one exception was Malang Sarr. A defender, who had played for Porto, Chelsea and Monaco briefly, he had taken time to settle and despite a few crucial errors had grown in confidence towards the end of the year. Could he be the rock the team needed?

One transfer in the middle of August did raise the temperature a touch, if only people knew who he was. After a successful 3 seasons at Udinese, winger Florian Thauvin was on his way to Lens in a €6m deal. Signing the 32-year-old was certainly a gamble but if it came off, it could be a master stroke. The world cup winner in 2018, had drifted out of the limelight and hadn't appeared for France since 2021... there was interest among the fans but many were keeping their cards close to their chests on this one.

With talk being dominated by the lack of a TV deal and the fact that Ligue 1 was being transmitted via a subscription service handled solely by the LFP, clubs were being told not to count on any tv money when handing in their financial predictions for the year to those nice people at the DNCG. Yes Lens' finances might be in a healthier state, but did we have a competent team? The jury was out on that one too. 

A relatively calm and tranquil trip South was broken up only by a man, talking loudly into his phone for his whole journey, suddenly falling asleep and snoring loudly before waking up just as we reached Peterborough. Obviously his stop, he bolted up then raced off just as the doors were about to close. His close call with karma made at least half the carriage smile.

At St Pancras, my obsession with JB continued but this time, when the lady I'd asked to take my photo took it, she hadn't noticed that her son was in the photo, trying to look like he wasn't in it but very definitely in it. With his hands firmly planted on knees stance, he looked straight at the camera as if to say to his mum: what is the man doing and what am I supposed to do? And...can we go get some food?After thanking them both for their patience, I set about editing my latest attempt at 'humour'. After promising to take JB with me on numerous occasions, he was finally going to get away.

With JB in my hand, and any small boys edited out of the photo, it was time to head for the Eurostar.

Through customs, there was a distinct absence of repetitive instructions being relayed so all was quite calm. There were no Scotsmen or School trips so I was able to find a seat quite easily. It was all very chilled. Sitting down, I was forced to listen to an extremely posh lady on the phone next to me agonising over whether to keep her London flat or move to her one in South Africa. What a dilemma! Some people have it tough! 

On my other side a lady was sketching the people sitting opposite. It was while I was admiring her work that a slightly beefy fart wafted from over her direction. My interest in her creations suddenly dissipated... I noticed that an elderly person was standing next to my so decided to give my seat up. This was definitely a day for great conversations as I was next treated to another person recalling how their dad had been a radio operator for Monty in North Africa during the second world war. 

A sudden exodus of not one but two sets of Paris-bound passenger eased the pressure on the seating and I was able to sit down again next a Belgian lady. "Watch my toes!" she urged me before yawning in a theatrically over-the-top kind of way. I resisted the temptation to ask what they did. As we waited, she repeated this phrase to everyone who came anywhere near her. It really was a strange group today. 

Rescued by the arrival of my Eurostar, I tried to close my eyes for a bit. I woke up to an ongoing game of I Spy. A young lad was telling his sister he could spy a poo, but he wasn't going to tell her what type it was. Kids are great! Lille station couldn't come quick enough, I decided.

I was pleased to see that the ongoing tragedy in Gaza was not being ignored as two women waved flags and passed out leaflets on the genocide that was taking place. The phrase "two wrongs don't make a right" always springs to mind when I think about the conflict. The Isreali response to the events of the 7th October was certainly way over the top but when the government I had voted for was continuing to sell British-made weapons to kill so many civilians, men, women and children, that showed how unfair the situation had become. Fifa had compounded things by banning Russia from competitions for invading Ukraine but doing nothing to stop the Isreali national team and clubs competing. Hypocrits does not go far enough in my opinion.

Pierre arrived to rescue me from my downward spiral! It was beer-o-clock: the match was only 3 hours away. Continuing the theme of dogs in a French bar, it was a real cracker who came to look after us as we joined Yannick and Rudolph. Part-wolf-part-dog, (s)he was a fine addition to the bar and seemed quite content just to lie there next to our table, A gentle reminder for us to make sure we settled the bill before leaving?

David joined us soon after with his 10-year-old son, who was totally at home with the lads' footie banter. Nothing was mentioned about paté knives, trains, handcuffs or English police so maybe that was a part of David's past he kept hidden from his family. What happened in England stayed in England. His son regularly joined in with chat though: I was well impressed! I am pretty sure the 10-year-old me wouldn't have been able to sit still for five minutes, never mind an hour or so... in fact the 56-year-old me was getting restless after an hour so he'd definitely earned his Scouts' badge for politeness and decorum. 

The chat centred around Thauvin... what impact would he have: if any? The French international had been substitute in the 0-1 opening day defeat at home to Lyon and looked tidy when he had come on for the last 23 minutes and when starting against Le Havre. But could he last the whole game? Robin Risser on the other hand, had made a good start in goal. The young French international had come up with some extremely impressive saves in both the opening two games and been instrumental in securing all three points in a 2-1 win in Le Havre.

In these days of e-tickets, there was no need to meet Jean-Marie, or anyone else for that matter, outside the ground so I was able to head straight with the others into the stadium. It was obvious that a lot had been done to improve the stadium... from named fronts on all the bars and friteries to the jazzily coloured prison-style turnstiles: red and yellow of course.

Maybe it is the fact that I am looking older and not so manic (medication is a great thing) but my last few entries into Le Stade have been pretty simple... no searches or salivating dogs. Murals galore adorned the once-bare concrete walls ... although I'm not sure JB was that impressed.

I think he'd spotted the latest craze in Lens for helicopter hats... had a child had got themselves stuck on the ceiling ? 

The jury was still out when Brest took the lead, Risser beaten by a neat move. Despite Lens pushing for an equaliser, the Brest defence held firm. Memories of previous visits when I had witnessed Brest upset the applecart returned with a vengeance. We had Risser to thank for keeping the score to 1-0. Young striker Ryan Fofana missed a great chance to equalise after the excellent old-boy Adrien Thomasson slipped the ball into his path.

We decided to head to the Delacourt End of the Marek for the second half and on the way we were treated to the sight of new self-service beer machines. There was great demand for them... were the Lens fans trying to drown their sorrows? Probably not at the strength of those beers.

This team under Pierre Sage was still finding out what it wanted to be and how it wanted to play and although I didn't want to be optimistic (it's not in my nature) I had hope that something would happen in the second half. From the Capos to the fans there was a more hopeful ambience. There wasn't the same forced urgency to lift the team from the last couple of years. Passion, yes, drive yes, but I just had the feeling there was a growing confidence being nurtured.  

A piece of craziness followed in the second half as Brest keeper Radoslaw Majecki decided to take out Fofana. He was sent off with a straight red  for his above-waist high tackle. After a nervous wait, VAR decided the contact was inside the penalty area. It gave Thauvin the chance to guide the ball under replacement keeper, Gregoire Coudet's body. Playing against 10 men proved to be to the home team's liking although Coudet was determined to have his say. The substitute was performing miracles to keep Brest level but could do nothing after a blocked Mamadou Sangaré strike; sub Morgan Guilavogui volleying home. The icing on the cake was provided by Thomassen, who slid the ball into the far corner of the net from loanee Saud Abdulhamid's cross. Maybe the incoming players were going to make a difference, after all? 

Yet again I was amazed by David's son's fanaticism and love for the club. Complete with his inherited "Shoppi" inherited vintage shirt, he and his young friend looked so comfortable hanging on the fences, joining in the chants, twirling his scarf. He was living every tackle, shot and save as much as we were. Terrace scenes like these are not common in England any more but here, he had no intention of jumping onto the pitch or causing any trouble. He just wanted to support his team. In the same way children had done in the 1980s, lining the fences waiting for that final whistle to celebrate the victory. 

His shirt from1990 was having a new lease of life; something that the modern world of football doesn't want to encourage? Will the replica kits of today still be in a good state thirty years from now? He is the future of the game and shows what a great future football in Lens can have. We need more like him. Just like the families that dominate the women's game because it is cheaper, they must not be priced out of the game. There will still be plenty of fans wanting to buy the latest shirt but variety is the spice of life. Not everyone needs to be the same.

It was great to see the return of the Marek clapping  , with players and fans enjoying celebrating together. After all, a shot ratio of 30 against 9 is a great reason to be positive. The beginning of a Lens family feeling was returning!

Evidence of the club trying to entice the fans to stay at the ground after the match was to be found as we walked past the disco block, handily placed above a friterie. A small group of fans were enjoying the disco beats while the rest took their seats in the usefully covered tables...

The fears of the bars in the surrounding town is that fans will stay at these new venues and not venture away from the ground. In Newcastle, the club have built a 'social hub', in conjunction with one of their sponsors, out of shipping containers. featuring a stage, seating and tables, multiple bars and street food vendors under a retractable roof so it can be used all year round. Bars and restaurants in the city centre have also complained about this new complex, called The Stack, claiming that it was taking away their trade. You wonder what is the solution to clubs trying to bring in more revenue. Most fans live outside of city centres so why not encourage them to get to the ground early, stay a little later? Not all fans will want to hang around the ground and have their favourite spots to go so will they all suddenly stop wandering into the towns and cities? 

For me the big problem is when clubs replace season ticket holders for people visiting on an occasional basis... dare I say encourage football tourism? I'm a fine one to say anything about tourists but I have enjoyed the Lens that exists beyond the club... not the one presented by the club, for better and worse. I have discovered the real people who have welcomed me into their hearts and homes therefore I hope that the towns and cities will find more innovative ways to attract customers, new and old. For me there is nothing better than the personal touch that little bars and restaurants can provide. There is no doubt that an entertainment complex based around the football club will be a big draw on match days. However, clubs will need to be sensitive to the towns that surround them and feed them. Time will tell whether that is the case.

For me, a trip to Lens wouldn't be the same without a visit to Chez Muriel and that's just where we were headed. There was no doubt that Lens was changing as we passed the silent rows of apartments under construction. Featureless, concrete blocks? I wouldn't dare to venture an opinion.

The next day, was definitely a one for community as we travelled to Frévent, a small town to the west of Arras. We were heading to the sporting complex there to see veteran Lens players' team take on the might of the town. The whole town seemed to have come out to mark the occasion as they looked to raise money for the local teams.

The score was irrelevant, although I think the veterans had the edge. A number of younger Frémont players made things interesting but the likes of Eric Sikora had too much game awareness. Pierre, Yannick and I had to leave before the end of the game as we were invited to a birthday barbecue nearby. Although we started outside, the coats were brought out followed by a move indoors for food and 'entertainment'. This basically consisted of music from the 90s (mostly English Britpop) blaring out while the host demanded that we all danced to this "Great English music". I was in my element. Every time someone sat down he would drag them up to 'dance'. I would need time to recover from this one.

Nice and warm... it is the end of August!

Getting back to Pierre's early next morning, I was looking forward to a lie in, but was glad to have taken another step in cementing Ch'ti - Geordie relations. 

The final day was a recovery day. Pierre dropped me off in Lille centre so I wandered around until I could check into my hotel. Needless to say, Lille had a new set of art exhibitions...

Had the region been donated a set of shipping continers? Lens had used theirs to create new friteries and disco locations around the ground... and Lille? I had absolutely no idea. I'm sure it must have meant something to the artist but was lost on me. Finally able to check into my usual spot in Lille, by the time I woke up, it was dark outside and my only thought was for food. I was glad to see that my mate at Pronto Pizza was still doing well, he seemed to be very busy tonight. Unfortunately, I had already had eaten so I returned back to my hotel for scrolling and sleeping before the early start home the next day.

March 2025 - Rennes (h) Orleans f (h) - the veritable Carling weekend.

 If Carling made weekends, they would look like this! 

Ever since Nexus ordered 46 new trains for the Tyne and Wear Metro, I had been desperate to travel on one. Jasmine, who rarely travelled on the Metro, and her girlfriend, who hardly ever travels, were the first ones in our family to have the privilege. Even my mum had been on one; and given me a list of complaints to go with her experience. The one person who was 'desperate' to experience one, me, had had to be contented with seeing them from afar. 

That all ended today! Gone was the rectangular box to be replaced by a sleekly streamlined bodice. Nice!

I knew this was going to be an awesome trip when sure enough, the amazing beast rolled into view! Fans of 80s scifi, brought up on flashing lights and circuit board windows, would have been right at home in this brand spanking new beauty! The rims of the doors flashed red and green as they opened and closed which made me forget I was squeezed in between two complete strangers, one with body odour, on a narrow seat.

The journey went swimmingly, although I was disappointed not to share my 8:59 carriage to London with any earlybird Newcastle United fans. My hometime team had reached the Carabao Cup Final for the second time in three years. Having booked my £93 return ticket from Newcastle to Kings Cross months ago, I was relieved not to have to pay four times that on inflated prices! £393 return to London? No thanks.

An innocent tourist was grabbed for my photo with Johnny B... zen was the order of the day!

Heading off towards the Eurostar, I was treated to the sound of two homeless men playing one of St Pancras' free pianos and despite their tuneless creation, they were certainly enjoying themselves, complete with sleeping bags still wrapped around their waists. Leaving them to it, I followed an increasing number of be-kilted Scottish rugby fans on their way to watch Scotland, probably, get battered in Paris, which they did 35-16. To a football fan, it certainly seemed like a battering.

Bags having been scanned and back in my possession, I was able to eventually escape the jaunty, repetitive but accusatory voice that kept demanding "Please return the tray...!" every couple of minutes at customs.

When the Scots fans followed a large school party onto the delayed Paris train, I was able to finally get a seat and relax. Sadly my state of calm didn't last long as I read in L'Equipe, kindly sent to me by Yannick, that the coolest Lens player, Facundo Medina, the player whose name adorned my Lens shirt, was on his way to Athletico Madrid at the end of the season. He was the last of the major financial assets of Lens' great team... the one that had reached the Champions' League, and his departure would definitely mean the end of an era.

An hour of concentrated meditation made the news bearable and then it was the usual scrum to get onto the Eurostar. In front of me, a well-dressed, elderly man was struggling with both his and his wife/partner/girlfriend's exceedingly large luggage. His much younger and exceedingly well-maintained wife/partner/girlfriend tottered ahead oblivious to the impending danger ahead of her beloved. As the moving walkway emerged onto the platform above, he found he was unable to move the cases and found himself beginning to fall on top of them. A helpful businessman behind us, sensing there might be a blockage to navigate, shouted "Keep moving! Don't stop!" as he pushed past me, bounded over the growing pile-up before heading unhindered to the train. The more helpful passengers rallied to the old guy's aid and he was back on track to catch up with his mini-skirted lover, who was also completely oblivious. Mr Businessman Justified his behaviour by calling back "I was just trying to generate some urgency." 

I had no idea I had replied until I heard my own voice , with added Geordie fury, shouting "You need to use your eyes and brain before engaging your mouth!" at the fast-disappearing businessman. This fell on his deaf ears but he had already wound me up! 

Thankfully, everyone  in the pile-on was okay, especially the older fellow and there was no more delay to the Eurostar. All was well in the world as Mrs Totterer waited  impatiently and completely unaware at the Eurostar door for her beleaguered beloved.

As we neared Lille, I got chatting to a lad on a stag do who said he was on the way to watch Gent play in the Belgian Jupiler Pro League. An Aston Villa fan, his mates had given him a fetching combination of a very tight Birmingham City shirt, West Bromwich Albion cap and Liverpool shorts. Classy lads!

My match was billed as the return of the former heroes. Back came former Lens keeper and hero, Brice Samba. Captain of Lens before his transfer to Rennes, Samba would most likely be roundly booed when he stepped onto the pitch or every time he touched the ball... in fact he proabably wouldn't have to even touch the ball. The fans felt as club captain he shouldn't have been so keen to leave the club. 

On top of this, all was not right in the club or the league. Rumours had it that DAZN, the major broadcasters of the Ligue were refusing to pay two thirds of the 300 million euros it had promised for the rights to broadcast Ligue 1 games for the season. It was at this turn of events that Joseph Chairman had decided Lens needed to sell the clubs' assets to balance the books without the expected TV money coming in. 

Out went Brice, for €14 million , to be followed by young revelation, Kusanov to Manchester City, for €40 million Euros, and his fellow rock in defence, Kevin Danso, on loan to Tottenham. Later Frankowski was sold for €8million to Galatasary. The Lens defence that had been so secure suddenly looked to be rocking. To shore up the unsteady ship, Luma Bah was loaned from Manchester City for the rest of the season. The poor lad had only just landed in Manchester (if his feet had ever touched ground in England) after being sold by Spanish club Valladolid. A tall central defender, it was hoped he could perhaps be the rock in the Lens defence: a lot to expect from an 18 year old. To help him out, another 18 year-old, Nidal Čelik from Bosnia was brought in. What could possibly go wrong?

Veteran Australian national keeper, Matt Ryan, arrived to add a bit of experience to the defensive melting pot. However a run of four defeats in February showed that manager Will Still had work to do. 

Strasbourg (0-2) and Le Havre (3-4) both arrived and left with three points, while Franck Haise's Nice (0-2) and Nantes (3-1) had completed Lens' sad quartet of February's failures. Watching on TV, Still's body langauge hadn't looked good at all. The forums seemed to be split on the new manager. Haise was always going to be a tough act to follow. 

Yet there was a glimmer of hope after that terrible February.  March arrived with little hope of a return to form for Lens at second-placed Marseille. Coached by ex-Brighton manager Roberto De Zerbo, Lens were put to the sword for 94 minutes but held firm with telling saves from the previously off-form goalie Ryan. In the final minute, it was a break away attack and pass from Lens' full-back Machado that was converted by wonder-kid Neil El-Aynaoui to the delight of the yellow and red faithful. 

The lads were not pleased to hear that Stéphanie Frapport was to referee today's game. For some reason they had a beef with the first woman to referee a men's Ligue 1 game, European qualifier and world cup game. I admired the way she could keep control over a large number of men , most of whom she had to look up to when she was talking. She was like the older generation of older female teachers I had had the 'pleasure' to work with, who could instil fear into a class of towering pupils whilst still commanding their respect and affection. 

Size is not important

One Rennes player who still managed to hold onto the home fans' respect and affection was Kalimuendo. Rennes' number 9 was applauded as much as Samba was booed. Maybe it had been because he had never been put in the situation where he had chosen not to be in Lens. He had had two very successful seasons on loan from Paris, kept his head down (as had Samba to be fair) and said he was disappointed to be leaving when he returned to Paris and was swiftly sold him on to Rennes. When he left, his replacement, Openda had scored even more goals than he had and stole the hearts of the fans. He had left at the right time, Lens were on a high with so many great players to marvel at. Had Samba's crime been to allow the fans to fall in love with him? 

There were cheers when Samba collected the ball from a corner and former colleagues, Sotoca and then Gradit buffetted him as he tried to release the ball. This was followed by delight as Kalimuendo's run from the halfway line ended up with a tame shot into the improving Ryan's clutches. There was jubilation when Kali's goal just before half time was referred to VAR. Once Stéphanie spotted he had handled the ball in the build-up to the goal, we were all able to breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all? 

The second half started in the best possible way for the home fans. A throw-out from tonight's public enemy number one ended up with a Lens corner that Said flicked home, rising magestically above the much taller defenders. 

At the other end, Matt Ryan was on hand to beat away a long range effort before another hit the side netting. At the final whistle, the celebrations were brief. It was Lens' first home win since January and my first since December 2023. Lens were only 3 points off the European spots but once the joy of the victory had receded into the still night sky, the talk was still downbeat. Not only was Medina on his way to balance the books but so were Neil El Aynaoui and a host of others. How could a stadium that had sold out every home game since February 2022 not be able to balance the books? A team that commanded such great numbers of supporters, whose club shop was crammed every matchday selling some of the most popular shirts in France? Surely there had to be something in football that needed changing if that was the case!

RC Lens women v Orleans women

While everything on the men's side of the club was still not smelling of roses, the women were doing the club proud. Top of Division 2, they were in great form and heading for promotion to Arkema Division 1. 

My first mission for the day was to resist the red and yellow pretzelly-swirly-type goodies on offer at the bakery. Instead, I celebrated the previous night's victory with a couple of pain chocolats and an orange Minute Maid - the breakfast of champions... or at least, ones that had beaten Rennes 1-0.

It was a crisp but warm Spring morning when Pierre dropped me off on the outskirts of town at Stade Leo LaGrange. The sporting complex boasted almost every kind of sport you could have wished for but that also meant the football pitch was surrounded by a shiny sky-blue running track around its outside. Never great at any football ground, especially since opera-style binoculars weren't provided. 

There was no-one about as I'd arrived stupidly early but when a man appeared with a Lens tracksuit, I thought I'd meakly tail him. The second he noticed me and my massive backpack following him, he ordered me off the premises... making sure I stood the correct side of a row of 40cm concrete blocks. He breathed a sigh of relief once he had put me in my place and walked purposefully off with his chest puffed, contented that he had shown me who was boss. 

A few fans were now sitting on the low 'wall' so I found a spot to put my backage down and began watching Newcastle United Women away to local rivals, Durham. When I joined the stream, the score was 1-0 to Newcastle but that swiftly changed as I whiled away the hour before I could leap over the tiny wall and charge into the ground. When the score changed to 2-1 to Durham, I decided that it would best if I stopped watching and allowed the lasses to equalise. As it was, that wasn't going to happen and a bad-tempered affair ended 3-1. Pangs of guilt began to waft over me for abandoning the lasses but then I felt the warmth on my face from the Spring sun and forgot all about them. Another set of lasses needed my support today... there was no point crying over spilt milk!

The activity around the stadium grew as we waited patiently and finally my mate returned to open his imaginary gate and everyone surged forward towards a table on which sat my ticket office friend from last time. I'm assuming she recognised me as I spoke French to me because she said "thank you" in English. 

Behind her, stood an enormously unfriendly security guard who was not happy to see my backage. He asked me to open it and took issue with my metal water bottle. He told me to put it on a ledge above my right shoulder and said I could collect it on the way out. Of course... what the chances of that? Naturally I forgot. Maybe my Kendal Calling festival bottle is still there and I can claim it in 2026. That would be a joyful reunion!

There was a joyful reunion as I bumped into Jérémie and his mates. He is Lens women's number 1 supporter on the Futbology app (I rank 75th). An app that lets you record all your footie trips, it is basically for all the football-trainspotters to monitor which grounds they have visited and how often. Jérémie's 819 matches attended is a testament to his obsession. My 592 pales into insignificance... and I've had a 15 year head start. Mind you, his 153 matches in 2025 is pretty impressive and definitely signs of an obsessive at an average of  3 matches a week! My paltry 40 is woefully lacking in anorak-points. 

We were all ushered into the only roofed stand that looked across the running track to the pitch and surrounding complex. Instantly recognisable were the old  yellow seats from Stade Bollaert, taken out before its 2016 refit. It was like bumping into an old friend! A healthy crowd had gathered by kickoff but the sun had been blocked off by the concrete roof and the temperature out of the sun was baltic to say the least. 

Lens' women had been on a great run since my last visit and were welcoming an Orléans team that was on a run of 4 defeats. Lens were firmly lodged in top spot, just ahead of Marseille and promotion to the top table was definitely on. 

Yannick and Rudolph arrived from Cambrai to cheer the lasses on and Lens were ahead on 32 minutes, Fany Proniez beating the visiting off-side trap to chip the Orléans keeper equisitely from the edge of the penalty area. Carla Polito headed in from a corner as I decided to move to the only sunny spot in the stand. Warmed by both sun and goals, life in Lens was going nicely.

The joie-de-vivre continued into the second half. Proniez once again used her pace to speed past the oncoming keeper and slip the ball into the net from a tight angle. Although Orléans pulled a late goal back, the day belonged to Lens' triumphant team.

There wasn't the noise that accompanied the men's team but there was a real warmth between the team and fans as the microphone was passed to manager Sarah M'Barek to thank the fans for turning up. One extended family: women, children and also men, supporting each other, sharing in this precious moment.  There was no doubt, this victory and their current position had been totally unexpected yet had been achieved by everyone pulling in the same direction and the togetherness was so apparent. From M'Barek to the team to the backroom staff and supporters: they were all revelling in being part of this team. Whatever happened in the rest of the season, next season and beyond, they would remember this feeling, I certainly did.

 Arkema Ligue 1 was in touching distance!

But my weekend's excitement was not over! This very weekend, Tyneside had moved to London: Covent Garden to be precise! My social media had been full of videos of the Toon Army revelling in their second cup final appearance in three years. Newcastle United men were taking on Liverpool at Wembley and the lads had all decided to accompany me to a Liverpool-supporting bar in Lille. Sang et Or scarves and shirts were replaced by black and white ones as my years of present-giving finally bore dividends.

In a quiet Lille backstreet bar, a small group of fans, led by a smashing bloke called Tosh, had been meeting to watch Liverpool games on a projected screen. Did they really know what they had let themselves in for, allowing me to join them for the afternoon? 

Pierre, Yannick, Rudolph and his son Gael, turned half of the bar into a homage to Tyneside with the beers flowing appropriately for an evening in the Toon. In England, and especially Newcastle, my love for Lens has always been a mystery to most and in the same manner, the way Newcastle United is supported in the region is also largely an unknown entity in Europe. In fact all over the world there are teams who command hordes of fanatical fans... not the big clubs, just the ones who had had their moments in the spotlight only to fade once their talented team had been broken apart by the circling big club vultures.

 It was sometimes a chore to be a supporter of Lens, Newcastle, St Etienne, Sunderland... but when a moment to shine in a cup final presented itself, their fans certainly made the most of it. Liverpool, Arsenal, Paris, Manchester United, Arsenal et al, the glory clubs, had lost their way when it came to enjoying these big occasions because it happened so often. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and was the case for Newcastle. I had left a town gripped by cup final fever. Pubs filled with Newcastle United murals and then there was the clamour for accomodation, match and travel tickets. A lot of people were rubbing their hands with glee at the chance to make a packet out of the travelling hordes who had descended upon London. I was relieved to be out of all this.

As a resident of Tyneside in Lille, I was allowed to sing to my hearts content, egged on by my Lens mates. Joining in once they knew the words, I imagined we were only mirroring the atmosphere at Wembley... complacent Liverpool fans being outsung (shouted really) by these upstarts from the North. The team that was tearing up the Premier League would surely put the minnows in their place. But much to the shock of the red 3/4 of the bar it didn't happen that way. 

First local lad, Dan Burn then Swedish striker Alexander Isaac scored. In my lifetime, I had watched Newcastle United at Wembley on television a number of times and only ever witnessed one goal. My only visit with them had been a disastrous 4-0 Community Shield thrashing against Manchester United. Yet here they were two goals ahead. You couldn't take the Geordie out of me. The teenage (and twenty-something) me had dreamed so often of this moment and here it was. I didn't care that I wasn't there, I was with my friends and a welcoming group of total strangers. The nervous closing moments after Liverpool had pulled one back gave way to one of utter jubilation and tears.

My friends congratulated me and I was swallowed in their sea of hugs. One by one, the Liverpool fans offered their congratulations before leaving. I was bought too many drinks, including a round of green-coloured shots for all of us from the bar owner. As a final reward, he asked me to choose a song to play in honour of Newcastle's win. The Blaydon Races boomed out proudly from a small backstreet bar in Lille, Northern France but I could well have been in Newcastle. 

Pierre knew how I felt. As a young 20-something, he had experienced Lens winning not only the French equivalent to the League Cup but Ligue 1 as well. I had scrutinised all the videos I could find on those years from 1998 and 99... years when Newcastle had lost in their own FA Cup finals to Arsenal and Manchester United (both 2-0) yet all those events had been someone else's history. I had watched the Newcastle finals on television, but had felt like an estranged partner. Thanks to the Newcastle United women drawing me back into being a season ticket all those years ago, I now felt renewed as a resident of Tyneside and therefore a fan of the team. I knew the delight and pride that it would bring to so many in the region and that included me. The men, women and children who would get to feel that emotion of being a winner. Not just in a league or cup match but in the ultimate match in a competition. I had shared this perfect afternoon with the most perfect people who understood what it felt like to feel as I did. That's what football should be about!

Early next morning, I dodged Lille's army of street cleaners and early morning commuters on my to the Eurostar. Even the surly youngster who served me my pain chocolats and Minute Maid Orange juice couldn't bring me down. The half-hearted smile from the lady in Relax earned her a cheery "Merci beaucoup". 

Arriving back into London, everywhere you looked were tired but jubilant Geordies. Even though I had only 10 minutes to get to my train to Newcastle, I breezed through it all. The carriage was filled with the music of all manner of Geordie musicicans. Mark Knopfler and Dire Straits, Lindisfarne, Busker, Sam Fender, AC/DC... the list went on. The lad sitting next to me, who looked decidedly worse for wear, had no chance of getting any sleep. Enjoy this while you can I thought, it won't happen as often as you think!

And, yes, my Metro home was a new one... the perfect end to a perfect weekend.

September 2024 - Nice (h)

 Gardening seemed to be agreeing with me, however the popularity of my new career meant that I was unable to take time off during the summer to get away to Lens. Therefore, I had to wait until the end of September, when I hoped it would be quieter workwise; it wasn't, but I went anyway. 

For the first time since the Lyon game in 2022, top man Alex would be joining me. This Northern Lensois stalwart hadn't had the pleasure of me snoring/dribbling on his shoulder for over two years and he was delighted to be able to once again experience this pleasure. As it was, I managed to stay awake throughout the Eurostar journey. We thrilled each other with our wit and repartee!

Alex had abandoned the Northeast of England after moving from York to Bournemouth amid rumours that the temperature up North hadn't quite been to all his family's liking. Because his train arrived in a few minutes before mine, I expected him to be excitedly waving at me as I stepped through the Kings Cross barriers but he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he had been so non-plussed about me arriving, he'd headed off to St Pancras to get himself something to eat: even though we'd arranged to have a lads' brunch with extra bacon and sausage! 

Managing to keep calm, despite his betrayal, I ordered him up to visit John B to ask for forgiveness.

Favouring the toga look for JB, it was off to Marks and Spencers to placate my raging hunger. Although an M and S chicken and bacon wrap is always a treat to this north of england lad (and most northern lads tbh), it wasn't the same as the massive fry-up breakfast that I'd been expecting (and promised). The silver lining was that M and S only sell massive bags of crisps and Alex didn't want any... what else could I do but snaffle the lot? 

The crisps had long since been hogged down by the time we arrived into Lille Eurostar. In spite of the rain that battered us the second we left the cover of Lille International Station, we were in good spirits. The journey was going smoothly and we were soon tucking into Merguez Americains at La Loco... or so we thought. Our order must have been lost in translation as two chicken nugget Americains had arrived. However, hunger took over so we settled for our baguettes, nuggets and chips with great gusto. This was all washed down with a Ch'ti and a Triple Karmeliet. 

Pierre joined us before we retired to his house to hopefully watch Paris (QSG) get beaten by Rennes. They didn't; but that wasn't going to spoil our evening. Neither was the fact that ex-Lens and Rennes favourite Benny Bourigeaud had followed Seko Fofana and co. to the money on offer in Saudi Arabia. Why would he want to do that? So he could afford those big bags of Marks and Spencers crisps? 

The Lads

The next morning, the sun was shining as Pierre and I set out for a jog along Pit 9's former mining railway line. This was followed up by a patisserie trip and a couple of pain chocolats.  Nice.

For the first time in many years, my local team had grabbed hold of my attention. Not that I had been ignoring Newcastle United but just that I couldn't get that excited by the men's team and the Premier League: I just couldn't stand the inequalities that existed and were getting worse, between the haves and have-nots in English football. The crazy prices being asked as well weren't helping either. Long-gone were those days, in 1994, when I had objected to paying £20 for a midweek Coca-Cola Cup tie populated mostly by United's reserve team. 

The takeover of Newcastle by Saudi Arabia's Public Investment Fund et al had meant even if I'd wanted to get to a game, tickets were like gold-dust, never mind my moral misgivings about human rights abuses; which I won't go into now. One good result of the takeover was the return of Adidas kits: the kits I had sported in Newcastle's glory years of the 1990s. They were amongst my favourite kits for both Newcastle and Lens and still looked great after all these years, something that couldn't be said for the current Puma kits.

Today's run saw me sporting my home team's colours for once. Not that anyone noticed.

Next stop: drag Alex from his pit before our wander into Lens. The sun beamed down on us as we wandered into Lens. Autumn colours lined our route. I was in full Lens-love mode.

Taking advantage of the weather, we had a drink in the beer garden of L'Imbeertinence. Pierre and co had said they would meet there so we  stretched out and relaxed.

Alex in full Englishman abroad mode: 

hands on lap, crossed lags and

Lens scarf in cravate mode ignoring the 

shell of an abandoned car in the background.

I've long given up trying to meet people before Lens games as I always end up racing about from place to place so it was no surprise to me that the others had decided to get some food at the new Momo's restaurant. The friterie from Bienvenue Chez Les Ch'tis fame was going up in the world... I think. It certainly looked impressive although in the style of a 1980s Wimpy.

Highlights of the pre-match actvities, on top of the Momo's visit, included: some beers, a glimpse of the new white Puma trainers for the princely sum of about €67 and a selfie with a dinosaur and a bee... I think. Although at this point my understanding of my whereabouts was getting a bit random.

Beer

shoes 

...dinosaur and bee?

Befitting our age, we headed for one of the ends of the Marek to enjoy the match and the opportunity to hang my Northern Lensois flag near the Trannin/Marek corner flag. The Northumbrian flag's red and yellow combination was certainly a sign that I was at home (#2). 

Lens' home games were still selling out but the early jubilation and expectation from the Franck Haise era was continuing to show signs of wear and tear. Without Fofana and Openda, the team had managed to scrape into the European Conference spot at the end of the season. Qualification for the group stages had depended upon victory in a playoff against Greek giants Panathinaikos. The home leg was won 2-1, Frankowski and Said establishing a 2-0 lead, despite Medina being outrageously sent off. However a goal for the visitors early in the second half made things tricky for the second leg in Athens. A missed Sotoca penalty in the first half of the second leg was a bad omen as two second half goals ended Lens' Euro adventure before it had begun.

"We're concentrating on ze cup" was Pierre's plan and it seemed like a good call. With a drop in TV money, after Amazon Prime Video had withdrawn from broadcasting, French football generally was struggling. The whole of Lens must have breathed a collective sigh as Wahi's short career at Lens came to an end. His transfer to Marseille meant he was someone else's problem. He had sparkled in spells but never consistently. Unlike Kalimuendo and Openda, his predecessors, I felt he'd never taken to the club and that feeling for him from the fans was reciprocated. Unfortunately, the lack of a replacement meant Lens were struggling for goals. 

Big money transfers for Neil (a great Moroccan-French name) Al Ayanoui to Monaco and Kevin Danso to Roma had broken down for medical reasons (a knee injury and heart problem respectively) and so there was not too much money to strengthen the forward positions.

Franck Haise left Lens when he found out his good friend Arnaud Pouille had been sacked (apparently for wasting money on Wahi) and that a new era of austerity was around the corner. Fans were mixed about his replacement Will Still. An Anglo-Belgian, he was renowned for alternating team talks between French and English as well as getting into football management from playing the game Football Manager. The previous season he had been spotted at the Lens-Arsenal Champions League game videoing the the fans singing Les Corons: his name was the only one seriously mentioned with regards to the vacant job. 

Of course the subject on the lips of most Lens fans was; What will happen to the idiot with the Franck Haise tattoo? I made the front cover of the clubs posh quarterly magazine: Sang et Or.

The title was certainly right: Unusual Supporters, a glimpse into some of the weirder members of the Lens fraternity that included yours truly. Alongside me was the airline pilot exiled in Sweden, the Belgian who fell in love with Lens 26 years ago, the Tifo makers, the fan with the massive flag and the guy with a Lens-decorated garage. All Lens nutters in their own way. 

As for my tattoo, I knew the day would arrive when he left the club. He had given many Lens supporters some great years, myself included, at a time when I was emotionally and physically at a low ebb. I would always remember those years but now they were in the past. The tattoo of Franck applauding fans after beating Lille was a reminder that there are ups and downs in life and football. I would remember both but not allow either to make me lose perspective of either. As for Will Still being the subject of my next tattoo: he's got some work to do first!

Of course today was the return of the 'prodigal son'. Franck's Nice were visiting and my main hope was to see a repeat of my only other game against the South Coast boys: a Jemaa backheel in the last minute to win the game. There wasn't much made of Franck's return as the game slipped into its usual vibrancy. A genuine hug between Will and Franck and the match began.

There was almost the perfect start as Fiorentina Loanee, N'Zola spun and shot. His effort was confidently turned onto the post by Nice's Bulka. The first 30 minutes was all Lens and there was no sign that the visitors would repeat the previous week's 8-0 victory against St Etienne. Despite all the pressure, Lens still couldn't turn their chances into goals: a familiar story.

Super Brice Samba had to be on his toes to turn away Bouanani's control and blast as the visitors looked to have weathered the storm. Lens certainly had done all they could in the first half, with 65% possession and 15 shots to 4. The second half was a different affair as Nice came back into it. Former Lens favourite Jonathan Clauss drove forward at every oppertunity; desperate to silence the whistles whenever he touched the ball. 

It looked like Lens wastefulness, in the first half especially, was coming back to bite them in the bum as VAR reared its ugly head. A non-existent foul was followed by a theatrical dive from Boudaoui. VAR spotted something the ref had ignored. Off the ref obediently trotted to the pitchside screen and there was delight when Mr Letexier waved away Nice's pathetic pleas. 

But our luck was out when new boy, signed from Burnley, Anass Zaroury was sent off for standing on Rosario's foot. Down to 10 men, the lads did well to cling onto a point. 

For me, my favourite moment of the day came when Franck was given the chance to applaud the Lens fans (something fate had deprived him of). His chanted name was mixed with warm applause from every corner of the ground. Once he'd left the pitch, there was a rare moment of support for Will as the remaining fans chanted his name, as if to say "You've not been forgotten". I think he knows he has still a lot to do to win over the home fans but it was a nice touch. 

It's all been too much for Pierre!

Still applause. Nice touch!

The mood at Chez Muriel was surprisingly upbeat with drunken congas aplenty: after all, against the odds, Lens were still unbeaten in Ligue 1 and in the hunt for European places. 

Leaving Chez Muriel, our attention was drawn to a small group shouting and being beeped by the passing cars. First thoughts were of Nice fans causing trouble... but no, it was a stag do and the groom was wearing a particularly bedraggled wedding dress.

The Lasses

My home allegiances had shifted to the women's game. For the last 3 seasons, I had been a season ticket for Newcastle United Women. The matches were extremely affordable, family orientated (not that my family were that bothered about joining me) and not populated by the blow-a-gasket-type of fan who glowed red at the slightest decision they didn't agree with or felt the best way to express themselves was with a string of non-sensical expletives. In my old age, I wanted an atmosphere without the aggression. There was also the irony that despite women's rights being restricted in Saudi, they were funding a women's team in Newcastle. As a father of two women, and a husband, supporting the women in Newcastle might be a small two fingers up at the Saudi establishment. My seasons supporting the Newcastle lasses had been very productive, witnessing two promotions. Now, Newcastle had reached the Championship: the English second division. It was also the same level that Lens women were playing at.

I'd never been able to combine a trip to see both Lens men and women but this weekend changed all that. Alex and I were heading for part 2 of our Lens v Nice double header: it was the women's turn!

 Lens women had originally been Arras FC Féminin. Founded in 2001, they became the women's team for RC Lens in 2020. Alex and I were returning to the site of a particularly cold April afternoon spent watching Lens' reserves lose to Arras but avoid relegation to National 3. Thankfully, there was no need for any fears of frostbite or numb toes as the sun beat down.

We took the opportunity to revisit a hotel that we had both once (and never again) visited. For me it was a return to the balcony and the smallest toilet in the world that Odessa and I had endured as part of my 50th birthday celebrations. (See: Le Havre August 2019)

Alex's memories were none-too-fond either and revolved around the disastrous 2008 coupe de la Ligue defeat to Paris, when the 'home' team were awarded an extremely dubious penalty in the last minute of the game to win. Finding himself dropped in the middle of Lens at three in the morning by the supporters coach, the bright lights of Le Jardin had drawn him in. Stepping over a couple of slumped bodies on his way to his room hadn't endeared him to the place and he had been relieved to escape in one piece the following morning.

Memories successfully evoked, and pushed to the depths of our minds, we headed for our train to Arras. 

We couldn't have asked for better weather, Autumnal sunshine greeted our arrival. The welcome at the ground wasn't, at first, quite so warm as we were told we couldn't bring our bags into the ground. Thankfully a kind steward told us we could leave them in the ticket office. After buying our tickets, we were then told to squeeze everything through the narrow slit in the window which caught the lady in the ticket office by surprise but she kept smiling as we piled our rubbish into her reluctant arms. A quick "Au revoir and merci" and we left our saviour to struggle with our bags. 

I had brought my Newcastle 'Howay the Lasses' women's team flag (crafted with a £3 England flag and a Blue Peter-style set of sharpie pens). So after hanging it up with my Northern Lensois flag, had a wander around to the far side of the ground to get the essential photo of my happily fluttering flags. 

Taking aim, with my phone camera, I was distracted by the referee and lines people, who had formed into a lovely trio, so I could take their photo. I never get that treatment at Bollaert!

Mind you, there's no way I'd want the equivalent photo of Turpin or any of his mates!

There was a solitary Nice fan who, in complete contrast to the polite applause from the home fans, treated everyone to his complete repertoire of his South Coast adulation. It seemed rude not to applaud him, although most adopted the French past-time of mild disinterest.

His enthusiasm was rewarded with a penalty and Rachel Robert converted perfectly after 14 minutes. Surprisingly, once his second bout of Nice-glorification had ended, he sat meekly, applauding appreciatively. Mind you, his team soon found out that the Lens Lasses weren't going to take this lying down and they began to prise their way into the game. A breakaway resulted in Laurine Pinot, recently arrived from Bordeaux, smashing home a great effort. After being congratulated by her team-mates, she then raced to head coach, Sarah M'Barek.

 The home crowd, bouyed by the young girls' team chosen as mascots, led by a twelve-year-old girl with a petite 'megaphone', found their voices. 

Next up, it was a home penalty that was dispatched by Aude Gbedjissi: the kids loved it.

Throughout the first half, I had been very grateful to number of the 'choir' as they kindly sorted out my unruly flags in the increasing breeze. The cheapness of the material for my England flag meant it was forever getting tangled around the railings but without fail, my young assistants untaggled it so that once again dance in the breeze. Into the second half, a different set of youngsters patiently unravelled it. One even taking the time to study them, wondering who on Earth could have brought these and what they meant. 

There was little time to breath in the second half. Five goals flew past a bewildered Nice defence: Gbedjissi completing her hat-trick. 

There was even time for a bit of argy-bargy after an over-zealous Nice tackle. My friend, the referee, did her best to calm the two adversaries and finally calm descended. The altercation had been out of the blue as the rest of the game carried on in a competitive manner.

There was great jubilation at the final whistle as the Lensoise secured their first win of the season. Not a bad result for my first women's game!

The announcer joined the team on the pitch and there were speeches from M'Barek before a quick Chicoté. Alex and I decided to go fetch our bags and eventually our friend from the ticket office emerged with them. She wondered where we'd come from and why we were here and as we explained in French, she seemed to be impressed with our efforts. After thanking us for coming, she admitted that hearing Englishmen speak French gave her the shivers! Egos expanded to ten times their normal size, we floated off to the station. 

Although, the men's game had been enjoyable in the usual manner, it was the women's game that I'd enjoyed the most. Although not as popular as women's football in England, it was great to see the same types of effort being made to encourage girls to play as there are back home. The local girls teams invited to be mascots and compete in the same run-and-shoot competition had contributed to the atmosphere and hopefully would be back regularly. I did think the distance to run for each team should be shortened, however.  They now had female role models to follow. I couldn't help compare my two teams: Newcastle and Lens. Both constantly sold out the men's games and had women's teams doing well in their respective Second Leagues. Although a few hundred had turned up to watch them, compared to Newcastle's few thousand, both had the support of their male counterparts and were essential parts of their clubs. A state of affairs that hadn't been the case until recently. "The future's looking bright!"

During the next international break for the men, a contingent of Lens supporters followed the womens' team in their away cup fixture, roaring them to victory. Seeing my two women's teams doing so well fills me with such pride.  I can't wait to go back and now proudly display my joint colours at Newcastle Women's games:

Taken at England women v Switzerland friendly match (23,000+ attendance)