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.