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The trip to Paris

Thursday 16th October

The trip began on the Thursday night with a trip to pick up new boy Julien – a real live Frenchie who ran Newcastle’s favourite creperie: La Petite Creperie. He was followed by Silly at a secluded roundabout on the A19 before the trip to York to Alex’s house. There was time to enjoy a refreshing glass or two of cactus juice before crashing....in preparation for a 5:00 start to the Eurotunnel. There was a moment of comfort for Alex’s wife as she recognised the same gleeful look on my face that her husband had when looking at anything yellow and red. The cause of my excitement: finding Alex’s collection of Lens shirts...and his Lens pillow! Sleep certainly would be a struggle after that excitement!

Nevertheless, I managed it and woke Julien and Silly up before meeting Alex in his boxer shorts on the landing. By six we were in the car and heading south.

6am Friday morning - fresh as daisies?

An uneventful trip saw me win the Norbert spotting competition, if only on the grounds that nobody else could be bothered and spent more time sleeping than me (as driver it didn’t seem a good idea) but Julien won the sleeping lions competition hands down.

The car was safely stowed in a multi storey car park in Amiens, a Quick burger demolished before we squeezed ourselves onto a packed train bound for Paris. With seats at a premium we managed to get force one commuter to remove his bags that had been spread over three seats: much to his obvious annoyance. He later met his match when a particularly fierce looking woman insisted he let her daughter sit on the remaining seat next to him. There was abuse for him followed by applause around the carriage as the friend he had been saving a seat for eventually arrived: “trop tard” he kept on muttering: too late...both too late for him and his mate as his new little friend swung her legs about, happily (accidentally) kicking him every so often...until he moved himself. There was a god.

Lens in Ligue 1: 2014

2014 – the lead up to Lens Paris (Stade de france)

Lens had done it! Promotion to Ligue 1 had been achieved on the final day of the season  away to Bastia (2-0). This had been achieved despite losing 1-0 at home to Brest on the final day of the home season: unfortunately for Adrian and Alex who had made the trip over.

However, in true Lens tradition…it all went pear-shaped. What most people thought to be a routine meeting with football’s financial police, the DNCG, ended with Lens’ promotion being annulled and Sochaux promoted in their place. News of Mammodov centred on him being arrested, his finances frozen and eventually him disappearing from the public spotlight. Martel looked like a rabbit caught in headlights as he battled to save the club. His health deteriorated and things looked bleak. Goalkeeping sensation, Alphonse Areola hung on as long as he could but eventually had to accept a move to Bastia. Edgar Salli and Marcel Tisserand left as well to leave a weakened not strengthened club. Coach Kambouare went 'on strike' in protest at the financial situation but thankfully returned to lead the team in their Ligue 1 opener. Worse was to follow as the rock at the back Alaeddine Yahia’s contract ended and the club were unable to renew until the financial situation had been resolved.

There wasn’t even going to be the backing of the Stade Bollaert crowd as it was to be rebuilt in preparation for the looming 2016 European Championships. It had been decided that the cheapest way to carry these out would be to close the stadium and for the team to relocate to play at neighbouring grounds. In the past both Lille and Valenciennes had played at the Stade Bollaert when they had been in need so it was only natural that they would return the compliment….wasn’t it? In a disgraceful act of sang froid, both refused to allow Lens to play in their stadium. The Stade de l’Épopée in Calais was keen but eventually the Stade Licorne in Amiens was chosen to help out. So much for love thy fellow ch’ti.

It wasn’t until July 22^nd when an appeal to the French Olympic Committee was successful so that Lens fans could take their first breath of Ligue 1 air. However there was a condition….they weren’t allowed to sign anyone or renew contracts until €4million had been deposited by Mammadov in Lens’ bank account. Simple? Not likely.

Numerous reports appeared on the web that it had been paid yet the embargo on transfers remained. Reports that it had been paid into the wrong bank account (due to an ISBN error) filtered through as fans once again feared the worst. Two victories away to Lyon (1-0) and at home to Reims (4-2) lifted Lens’ fans’ hopes only for that hope to fade as the victories dried up.

Our anticipated first trip to the Stade de France to watch Lens play champions Paris arrived with Lens dropping into the bottom three….

April – Lens v Niort

As soon as I started watching Lens I found a like-minded soul in Alex who lived in London. He had started a Facebook page around 2008 entitled RC Lens - UK division which had precisely one member – himself. He had supported Lens all his life thanks to his Ch’ti mother who had brought him up not only to support Lens but speak French – a useful skill in a French football trip. I joined his group, that he had forgotten he had created, and we were soon joined by Adrian from Lancashire who had started supporting Lens after his team Blackburn signed Aussie Robbie Slater from Lens. From these humble beginnings the group gradually grew in membership until it boasted 66 members in April 2014 – not only from England but also all over Europe – most bemused by the fact that there were Lens fans in Britain.

My ambition since that day had been to get as many of us across to see a game together as possible, however that proved harder said than done! Alex I had met most regularly but Adrian’s trips never coincided with my own due to work commitments. The one time we managed to get ourselves organised, the game at Boulogne was called off the day before we were due to set off – the temperature of -20 degrees Celsius hadn’t filled us with much hope of the game being on anyway.

Nevertheless we often chatted about our shared love of Lens over Facebook and vowed that we would get our act together one day. That day arrived just five years later!

The game against Niort seemed to be just another game at the start of the season but by the time the game arrived it had become huge. If Lens lost then Niort would unthinkably be level on points with them, second in Ligue 2. The fact that Niort had been the visitors at my first French football fixture just six years earlier made it all seem bizarre – at the time there had been only four fans at their match against Tours – each filling the stand we were sat in with smoke from their four red flares. These eventually flickered out to be largely ignored by the Tours faithful. Would those four be there this time? Possibly as the travelling support was due to be more than 150 – a good result in French Ligue 2, unless you were Lens who had sold more than 35000 tickets by the time we were due to set off.

No matter how many times I had made this journey (in all its different forms – bus, car, train, ferry) – I had never managed to get a good night’s sleep, the excitement of the trip had combined with worries of missing taxis, trains, ferries and forgetting tickets, passports to keep me tossing and turning. You name it, I would worry about it.

This time it was a 4:30 get up, ready for the 6:10 train from Newcastle to Leeds. I was to be joined by my friend Andrew – Silly Andrew to be more exact – who had joined me on a trip to see a Lens game the previous season, only for it to be moved without notice by Ligue 2. This forced us to watch Lille v Troyes instead: not much of a compensation. This time he would get to see why I was so in love with Lens, the region and its fans.

The only person I met at Newcastle Central Station when I arrived was a man called Tony the Fridge who was off to run the London Marathon on Sunday with his fridge on his back. Typically, Andrew only appeared five minutes before the train was due to leave, always loving a dramatic entrance, and insisted on getting some pastries even though the train was due…even then he couldn’t decide which shop to get them from…I was trying to keep calm!

Luckily the train we were booked on left with us on board and by the time we arrived at Leeds the sun was shining and chauffeur, Adrian was waiting.

On family trips to France we pass the journey spotting red Norbert Dentressangle lorries and tankers and sure enough once I had introduced the others to it the trip passed even quicker. Andrew, in the back of the car, at first hated it because he was losing, we even gave him sympathy points to keep him happy but once he had spotted three Norbert tankers (which carry a five point bonus) he was soon crowing about how he was uncatchable and what a great game it was.

Alex was picked up just past London in the not so beautiful car park of Swanley’s Asda and Andrew decided it would be a nice touch to get Easter eggs for the Lens fans who had given us tickets for the Marek, although he hadn’t thought about the effect heat in the car might have on their egg shape…but it was the thought that counted!

Finally we had the first three members of the Lens UK division together in one place with a newer recruit to fill the car. The trip that had been five years in the making was here!

Boulogne on a warm Spring evening is a wonderful place to be and as soon as we had found a decent place to sit in the sun we did that. Having never visited the town, it was a pleasant surprise to see how beautiful it was and the chance to relax with a beer was extremely welcome.

We headed up to the ground after our drinks because we had found out we wouldn’t be able to get any food until seven o’clock. Why was it in England they never stopped serving food? It certainly was more convenient that way…but not as civilised. Our empty English stomachs complained all the way up the hill. However we soon found that the ground wouldn’t be opened until half an hour before the game – much to our stomachs’ and full bladders’ discomfort! A trip to another bar beckoned to use their toilet facilities… and just one more drink, perhaps.

Resident English Lens fan, Jeff soon arrived with a bag full of programmes from all the previous Lens games I had missed. I had a bag full of English football magazines that I had collected for him. We must have looked like some cheap international spies exchanging our plastic bags.

Once inside the Stade de Liberation we wasted no time in ordering massive portions of chips with the optional fricadelle (I still don’t ask what is in it) and by the time the game started we were refreshed and watered…and everything else.

The stadium itself is set in a beautiful location on the edge of the old town and the cathedral provided the perfect backdrop for the collection of ramshackle stands that had been quickly put up when the team had been promoted to Ligue 1. The match itself didn’t match the back drop, however a sublime chip from Baidy Dia lit up the first half and in the second half we decided to form our own Kop at the back of the sparsely populated stand – entertaining the home fans with our renditions of YMCA (with the changed lyrics USBCO) and our own tribute to goalscorer Dia. Our vocal support obviously had such a great effect on the team that Jonathon Tehoue scored a breakaway goal in the 87^th minute. This delighted Adrian who realised that Tehoue had come from Orient and with Andrew’s help had managed to make up a chant to sing for him. As the final whistle blew we taunted the two Ajaccio fans who stood on their own and dejected in the empty away end: unsurprisingly disappointed with their reward from their 1,384 km, 18 hour journey. In comparison our 11 hour journey seemed like a short hop. They totally ignored us so we set off home after a tuneful rendition of Les Corons, which again was completely ignored as the 1000 fans had long since abandoned the stadium.

The next day, fog surrounded Lievin’s Formula 1 inn we were staying in. Adrian joked that perhaps the game would be called off just to annoy us, yet some of our recent experiences of arranging trips and having disappointments made me think it was not so far-fetched. A quick trip to Carrefour saw us emerge each with a lime-decorated Carrefour bag. Mine would go nicely with my collection of two with peas on, one orange and a kiwi fruit – my wife winces every time I return from France uttering the phrase: “No more bags!” but her pleas always fall on deaf ears: this was no exception. Andrew got his wish to visit the Canadian Monument at Vimy Ridge before we arrived a little later than planned in Lens.

Once again the welcome in La Loco was familiarly friendly. However, we were amazed at how many English there were there as we met yet another English Lens fan –Kevin, a translator from Brussels who supported Watford (another yellow team). He was there with four lads who had come down from Lille University for the match. Amazingly Kevin had the innate ability to talk as quickly in French as he did in English and his conversations never seemed to end. I thought he could probably exist without oxygen. However in the end I was able to briefly jump into his conversation to organise where I was going to meet him so that I could hand him his match ticket.

Northern Lensois flag's debut appearance.

When he appeared Kevin was delighted with it: it would go straight on his wall he said as he also compared it to various works of historical art. As a collector of match tickets I had to agree it was a corker: art and football, another great combination to go with music and football, women and football….

The only person missing was Alex – who had stayed in the pub chatting to people and “Rarely saw the start of a match anyway” so we headed in.

Without a doubt, this was the most vibrant atmosphere I had experienced in the Marek. We managed to shoehorn ourselves into a space and Andrew was clearly amazed by it all.

“I love terracing,” he shouted above the din.

“This is the seats…and we are on the walkway.” I pointed out.

 “I love terracing,” He was clearly impressed as fans crowdsurfed up and down in front of us, something I had come to expect from rock concerts and now from Lens matches. This wouldn’t have been allowed in England yet nobody was being injured and everybody was respectful of each other: we felt safe and that was the main thing.  Bedlam was the word that sprung to mind yet in all this chaos there was still order: when the stewards moved to remove a flare that had gone off, after a bit of pushing, order was restored and the flare removed, partly through the fans’ cooperation and discussion with the yellow-jacketed security. The over-exuberance of British stewards had helped remove the fun from their stadiums: thankfully it wasn’t evident here.

There was little time to take in the scene before we were all covered by an enormous Tifo celebrating ten years of the Lens Ultras group Galliboys. As it passed over our heads we were covered in a steady rain of flecks of paint yet the effect from above must have been stunningly impressive as it covered the whole depth of the Marek and some of the Xerxes seats above, stretching far off to our left and right. It was yet another example of everyone cooperating as members of the Galiboys coordinated its rolling out and gathering in from above us. There wasn’t one angry comment from fans around me at having their view of the pitch blocked or being showered with flecks of paint and as soon as it had appeared, it disappeared behind our heads allowing us to revel in the sun that had appeared.

The noise from kick off continued throughout the first half as Lens seemed to struggle with the occasion – balls were being given away too easily and mistakes made all over the pitch. Niort had managed to create their own threats so when the half was brought to a thankful close, Lens weren’t behind and the feeling was that Kambouare had his work cut out to get the all-important goals out of his team. A combination of unfit and inexperienced players needed to find a miracle in the second half to keep Lens’ promotion push on the rails.

The second half was much better as the players closed down their Niort opponents quicker and with more success. There was sheer joy when Chavarria controlled a Niort clearance to cross perfectly to young winger LaLaina, who had appeared on the edge of the penalty area. His header drifted towards the far post as the ground held its breath in the 58^th minute. The goalkeeper stretched out his right hand towards it yet the ball had already bounced into the net. Cue wild celebrations: not only amongst the native French fans but also amongst our little band. I had waited since November and the others even longer to see the team score at home so we didn’t mind being embraced by a number of the fans around us. Relief poured out from every part of the ground. If they managed to keep this score line then they would move six points clear of Niort and the other three teams locked on the same number of points.

The Marek still continued with their support as the game began to head towards its conclusion and things looked to be going Lens way as Niort’s defender Bong received a second yellow card and was sent off. However the away team decided that enough was enough and began to press forward and the nerves of earlier returned, although the noise didn’t drop.

The sight of five minutes of added time coming up on the electronic board increased the nail biting and invigorated the band of 150 blue Niort fans who bounced away in their corner of the ground.

Just like the previous night’s match there was a pleasant surprise right at the death. As Niort attacked en masse the ball was cleared to a struggling and off side Touzghar. He ignored the cramp that was affecting him and tried to get to the ball before the rapidly advancing Niort goalkeeper. Just as the ball bounced the keeper inexplicably slipped leaving a revitalised Touzghar to head for the gaping goal. Just as the embarrassed keeper was about to reach him, he rolled the ball into the need to seal the victory and begin the home fans’ frenzied celebrations.

We joined in with the traditional clapping and there was time for our final photos in the ground, much to the annoyance of the security who were desperate to remove us. The flag that I had spent an evening making and decorating with the name of our new group – Northern Lensois (everyone in Britain will be North of Lens) gave us an identity at last. What had been a trip six months in the planning had given us the perfect result. I had finished my visits to Lens for the season with three wins out of three while the others had finally got to see a home victory: Andrew at his first attempt. Our evening would continue with a trip to La Loco before sampling the goalfest that would turn out to be Belgian football. It ended with Andrew teaching Newcastle (Geordie) phrases to the occupants of a Lievin bar until two thirty in the morning before we disgraced ourselves singing Lens songs to a fan who had begun singing to us from his attic window. We said sorry to the lady who had quickly popped her head out to tell us to be quiet before stumbling back to our hotel: contented but worn out.

My journey back home tomorrow would end at 20:00 in Newcastle station yet it would have been another uplifting experience and worth every bit of the time and money spent pulling it all together.

November  - Lens v Caen

Cullercoats station - the journey begins.

For me there is a big link between music and football in the way that I enjoy them. Going to see either is all the more enjoyable if there is a lively crowd that is both loyal and loud, engaging fully with their team or band either by singing or applauding them throughout. To get the full experience I have to also be part of that singing by learning their songs / chants beforehand. Cds need to be listened to and YouTube videos watched so that the necessary preparation can be done. I hated the thought of not belonging!

I first heard of the alternative French band, Indochine, while listening to France Bleu Nord’s commentary of Lens games a few years ago. Their most famous song, L’Aventurier, about an adventuring hero called Bob Morane (great French name there!) who risks everything to save his girlfriend Miss Clark, often played during half time. In England you usually avoided listening to the commentary team talking nonsense by making a cup of tea or doing whatever jobs could be done in 15 minutes. I enjoyed the opportunity to have a break from the meandering Christian Polka. The fact that they asked an ex-professional cyclist to do their football commentary suggested how high football ranked in terms of the nation’s sporting priorities. Every week Indochine would get an airing and I felt more and more compelled to find out about them. Their combination of electronic keyboards and rock guitars reminded me so much of the bands I loved from the 80s such as The Cure and Depeche Mode. Sure enough my research showed they had begun in the same era and I was transported back to my youth – dyed black long hair and matching clothes. I gradually collected their back catalogue and when I finally got the chance to see them live in Brussels I decided to take the plunge during the October half term holiday. Extra tuition was taken up at school so that I could afford the trip and travel and hotels were organised. What would make it perfect? A combined trip to Brussels and Lens? Lens at home to Caen beckoned!

Again I had the the usual wait for the French football dates. Friday game? Saturday? Monday? I looked at the fixtures and decided to gamble on a Friday or Saturday game...after all Monday I was back at work so that was out. The gig ticket was booked in February, the bus ticket booked in June yet I had to wait until 4 weeks before the Lens fixture to know if I could end my trip in style!

I daily compared the league placings with the fixtures for November 1^st to see which could be the most attractive fixture and was delighted when Caen’s form took a turn for the worse so that there would be a smaller chance that they would be picked by Eurosport to show on the Monday night – when I would most likely be marking books or planning lessons. To my relief Brest – Troyes was chosen to be shown on the Monday while Lens would appear on the Saturday. The perfect trip was on!

The Metro ride to Newcastle was followed by the bus trip to London on the Wednesday lunchtime, with time for a burger in an under-construction Cafe Rouge in Victoria. By 16 00 hours the following day I was crashed out in my Brussels hotel room.

Indochine were sensational. The sell out crowd sang, clapped and whooped their way through a 2 ½ hour set that included l’aventurier and I thought of France Bleu and their role in delivering this experience for me. I was a teenager for those few hours and bounced my way through to the end, even after the concert when I realised I had no idea how I was to get back to Brussels centre. Thankfully a lady at a bus stop came to my rescue and I was soon back at the hotel –exhausted but ecstatic. This exhaustion carried on through to the next day when I had to brave the 1970s style Belgian local train carriages. The difference between them and the French rolling stock was immense – hard, uncomfortable plastic covering compared to the more plush and modern fabrics. I was taken back to the 1970s and 80s British Rail carriages that would be pulled out of mothballs whenever there was a football away special. The idea that you could trust football fans in those days with anything more than a cattle truck meant that they acted accordingly. Goodness knows what we’d have done if we’d had anything nearing comfort!

Seeing the difference between the double decker trains in the Nord Pas de Calais with their phone charging points, spaces for bikes and different coach layouts gave me an insight into the differences between France and the smaller Belgium. The rich and the poor?  It was something I’d never thought of before because of the British Isle’s isolation from the rest of Europe. All I’d had to compare it to was the difference between Scotland and England...and that generally boiled down to different accents. I remembered watching the film Rien a Declarer about the day the border restrictions were removed in Europe. Another Danny Boon classic – were the two nationalities like their stereotypes? The dour Belgians and the laid back French? I know which one I would have chosen to be!

My hotel for the night was in Lille so by the time I had crossed the city and reached it, the excitement of the gig was replaced by the effects of travelling over night so I staggered into my room, soaked from an evening’s downpour, not to emerge until the next day. When I opened my curtain I was shocked to find the Lille Stadium right outside. A grey monstrosity for a grey day! It would have been rude not to have tried to brighten it up with my Lens shirt – after all, today was match day and La Loco awaited me along with my friends in the Red Tigers! Today was going to be a good one, surely!

Within the hour I was in Lens and had spotted my chance for a photo with an away fan...it was now tradition! I remembered how friendly the Caen supporters had been when we had visited their stadium for the Coupe de la Ligue game the previous season while the family and I ate chips on the grass outside. Shame there was no fricadelle there but you can’t have everything!

On the way to Emotion Foot, my pride was hit as, weighed down by my backpack, I tried to leap over a particularly treacherous puddle only to slip as I landed. The three fans in front of me turned around and as I tried to dry my soaked backside they offered me the tiniest of paper hankies. It was the thought that counted! I decided to take the steps rather than the muddy slope outside Emotion Foot, my pride having deserted me with that fall. It had to be a lucky omen...didn’t it?

I felt like a returning hero when I reached La Loco. So many people knew me that I spent the first fifteen minutes shaking hands and kissing cheeks – the latter going against my English reserve. I met up with one of my friends, Antoine who often commented on the UK Lens division Facebook page. His English was superb and as much as I tried to speak French, it was far too easy to slip into bad ways. He, like so many other fans, regularly travelled from Paris for the games and it reminded how many Newcastle, Middlesbrough and Sunderland fans regularly did the same in England: all truly remarkable sets of fans when it comes to fanaticism – a common feature of northern football fans, whichever country you’re from it seemed to me. I was joined by Esteban, another long-range Lens fan from Valenciennes. His English was as good as my French but we still managed to communicate fairly well. I still had to break our conversations every time someone new arrived and eventually Antoine left to get his favourite spot on the Marek...the fact that I still hadn’t had my fricadelle meant I had to stay behind. For once I decided to ask what was in it and every time I did was given the same answer as Danny Boon’s character in Bienvenue Chez les Ch’tis: “You don’t want to know!” As with black pudding in England, there are times when it is best not to know exactly what you are eating.

Esteban and I made our final stop at Chez Muriel where I was to meet Pascal. There I met Mac who had clearly enjoyed his trip out and managed to get the bar to sing in my honour. I was extremely flattered and would have joined in if I had had a clue what he was singing. Unfortunately half of the bar had no idea either yet they still joined in and as they sang I put my bag in the back of the bar, where Pascal had kindly arranged for me to leave it during the match.

Pascal soon arrived with his friend, who had only just stepped off a plane from America an hour earlier to be very willingly dragged off to bar then football. Dedication!

My previous encounter with Caen ended in a 2-1 defeat last season so when the game started I was greedy for a repeat of the Auxerre result. Standing with Pascal and Esteban in the Marek I was treated to the dream start: a crossfield ball was helped on its way to the young defender Gbamin who finished with style into the bottom corner of the net. Another cross this time found the head of Argentinian goal poacher Chavarria who started delirium in the stadium when he headed downwards and past the flailing arms of the goalkeeper.

Then things took a turn for the worst. An aimless ball in midfield was challenged for by Valdivia with first one foot then the other and he was duly sent off, to the disgust of everyone who hadn’t had a good view of the tackle. Things got worse in the second half as central defending rock, Aleddine Yahia, who had performed heroics over the last few games, had to be substituted. I could see my usual score for Lens visits appearing – 2-2. This would have put a dampener on my visit. The dreaded draw edged a step nearer when Caen pulled a goal back with a few minutes left. The whistles around the stadium grew louder and just when it looked like Caen were to ruin things the referee blew the final whistle.

Once the crowd had calmed down, I was then treated to my first example of the traditional Lens clapping that was led by the young Gbamin in honour of him scoring the first goal. A hush fell over the stadium as first Gbamin followed by his team mates approached the Marek then the defender stepped toward the fans. All eyes were focused on the youngster. As he lifted his arms above his head, the whole stadium did likewise. An unnerving stillness followed as we waited and just as it seemed we would not be rewarded, he clapped once above his head and shouted “Lens”. As he did so, the stadium copied. Another pause. Another clap and “Lens”. Then another...this time quicker and with each new clap their frequency increased until the word ‘Lens’ was being shouted repeatedly. A final cheer greeted Gbamin when he finished and the players made their way off the pitch and we happily returned to the town’s bars.

I was pleased to meet up with Jeff, my English friend who moved to the region ten years earlier and has similarly experienced the generosity the Ch’ti have to offer. He accompanied us and for the first time in a few days I didn’t feel guilty for speaking English.

The now familiar route back to Lille started with my reluctantly taking off my Lens colours to avoid any unwanted attention in enemy territory. After all I would have five hours to wait there before my bus left and at that time of night Lille Flandres seemed to be a magnet for peculiar individuals. The sort of individuals I didn’t want to attract by wearing the wrong colours. I settled myself down in one of the bars and watched first Arsenal against Liverpool followed by a Spanish then Italian game. I chatted to, or simply made comments about the football to really, the only other person in the bar as I enjoyed a few Desperados before heading off for my traditional feast at Bashir’s take away emporium. He recognised me from my visit in August and I finally admitted my love for Lens. I felt honoured when he put my pizza on his best crockery!  We chatted about England, France and how much he loved the English. I had warmed to my new friend and when I said I wanted a photo of him he insisted in darting into the back of the shop to get his cap to complete his purple outfit: another entry in the growing book of people who had restored my faith in human nature. I finally bid him farewell and headed off to the Boulevard de Leeds to wait for the Eurolines bus.

There was now half an hour to left and yet again I had had a fantastic trip. It would be six months before I could come back so I sat in the warmth of the waiting room at Eurolille soaking up my surroundings. The young traveler charging her phone as she studied her emails, Facebook or Twitter, the homeless man sleeping in the corner, the smartly dressed elderly man waiting for someone to arrive: all could been from any big city yet there was something about them that made them European and not British. Was it the colour, fashion sense (or lack of..) or the way they sat or held themselves?  Where would they be ending up? Certainly not in Newcastle that was for sure.

Newcastle was a world away at that point yet was only two bus rides away: bus rides that would soon pass as I slept. I would sleep before the French passport control at 3 00am when I would have to remove my bag from the bus’s hold, followed by the presentation of my passport to them as my bag was x-rayed. This would be followed by the short drive to the English customs officers who would glance at my passport, check the computer before sending me back on the bus: their thrill at getting the night shift extremely evident.  Back in London, the trip to McDonalds in Victoria station at six o’clock in the morning, queuing with the all night clubbers would follow. Finally there would be the wait for the Newcastle bus and home.

It was a journey I was growing quite familiar with and although not as quick as the train and Eurostar was certainly a lot cheaper and that made Lens a lot more accessible for me.

2013 Lens v Auxerre

2013-14 Season

August – Lens v Auxerre

The moment the fixtures were published in May, the visit of Auxerre was pencilled in as a possible trip over to France. The only problem was whether it was going to be on the Friday, Saturday or Monday?

For the first time I decided to choose the coach to go over because:

1: it was cheaper (£60 return to Lille was better than a minimum of £130 Eurostar and train from Newcastle).

2: for the sum of only £5 you could change your travel plans: essential if you want to avoid paying for hotel or campsite for four nights. Once I knew it was on the Saturday I then changed my return date to 23:45 on the Saturday night.

Newcastle town centre: 23:00

My journey began 22:30 on the Thursday night – while my two daughters set off to their bedrooms to sleep, I was on my way to Newcastle coach station proudly sporting red and yellow striped Lens shirt and camping equipment stuffed into my enormous rucksack with Lens scarf tightly tied on.

A few quizzical glances at my shirt – which was certainly not a Newcastle one – were all that I attracted as both the Metro and Newcastle Centre were eerily quiet. Standing at the rain-soaked bus station, only the drag act, wearing only a sparkly bikini and brightly coloured head-dress of feathers, entering The Powerhouse nightclub managed to raise any eyebrows.

My journey down was uneventful as I tried to get as much sleep as possible and we arrived into London at 6am on the Friday morning. Victoria coach station was crammed full of bodies heading to all parts of the country and Europe. Passengers for Paris, Amsterdam and Seville battled with those for Wolverhampton, Glasgow and the strangely titled destination – England in a day - for seats or standing space and tempers were frayed and there certainly weren’t any quarters given as every inch of space for yourself and your luggage had to be fought for.  One fight loomed between a bulky Midlander and an old man (who had desperately pushed past a young girl to get to his delayed bus) but the old man managed to nimbly escape with only an ear bashing…

”Come near me again and….”

It wasn’t even his daughter who had been pushed.

Thankfully the bus to Lille boarded at 8am and once the “England in a Day” bus had cleared out of our way we were off to the Euroshuttle and eventually France.  After arriving at Lille it was a short, and very familiar, trip to Lille Flandres then onto Albert where I was camping that night and enjoying a fantastic example of French home cooking at the house of my friend Thierry and his family. Another Lens fan, Mac came too and it was he who picked me up at 7:40 the following morning ready to get the train to Lens: the first of many acts of kindness from him, and many others that weekend. When the station looked closed at that unusually strange time on a Saturday morning he showed me where to get in and how to get my ticket on the antique ticket machine that relied on a spinning handle rather than a touch screen. Finally he came onto the platform with me. His familiar greeting to old ladies and young lads alike was another sign of the community that amazes me every time I visit the region and is certainly a breath of fresh air.

Having an hour to wait for the connecting train to Lens, I decided to get some breakfast in Arras (in addition to the squashed pain chocolat and banana I had found at the bottom of my bag). Five figures on the other side of the road seemed to be acting suspiciously, pushing one of their number in my direction and when he was spun around, the others exposed his Auxerre shirt.

Sensing a photo opportunity, I charged after them, shouting in French “Wait!”

“Non, Non!” they replied as they ran off, sensing a fight. However, with a burst of speed, I caught them up and showed them that I wanted nothing more than a photo, although that wasn’t what I told the Lens Red Tigers when I met them later.

Any trip to Lens wouldn’t be complete without a raid on Emotion Foot and this was no exception. It is the one shop where I feel like a kid in a sweet shop, wanting everything I could see. The smell and feel of new shirts, training kits and equipment was everywhere although I was disappointed to see a rack devoted to other Adidas team kits: Spain, Chelsea, Inter Milan and Real Madrid kits were surely not worthy of this hallowed ground (ok, Spain wore the same colours), yet in these desperate times for the club, any chance to make money could be turned down. Thankfully and rightfully Marseille were denied any space. That would have been the ultimate insult!

With a new retro 70s style training shirt and mini kit for the car purchased I headed for my first meeting point at La Loco to meet Loulou who was to give me a lift to the Lens-Paris cfa game that started after the Auxerre game. I loved the relaxed atmosphere at La Loco…food in one half and drink in the other. Loulou and his family sat with the other tigers, his son bouncing off each of them and although there was the occasional shout at any passing Auxerre fans, there was no fighting, no aggression, just one big family enjoying the afternoon sun and my chance to get my Fricadelle Americain: just don’t ask what’s in it!

 Mac took me to my next stop: Chez Muriel’s to pick up my ticket for the game from Denis. Altogether a different pub: more sedate in some ways and mostly filled with a mix of young and older men. Once again Mac knew everybody there, as he continued to look after me.

Did they know Denis?

Heads shook, smiles disappeared and faces looked quizzically at me.

Friends with Pascal….?

Ah! Pascal! Denis! Smiles returned and Mac explained I was an English Lens fan. Heads were nodded approvingly. I was accepted, once again, by these complete strangers.

Denis finally arrived and with the match looming, I joined the red and yellow streams of fans converging on the Stade Bollaert-Delesis, there was a buzz that I hadn’t felt around the ground since the ligue 1 years: the buzz of expectation.

The game started well for Lens with the team, sporting the new shirts that looked like Miss World sashes, passing and moving well. There was barely time to settle when there was a Lens handball followed by an Auxerre free kick that fizzed into the net via the far post. I hadn’t seen Lens win since October 2010 so naturally I started to prepare myself for another disappointing result: after all the sun was shining and I was amongst good people: the best! Yet still the Marek sang and still I joined in, the months between each match well spent learning as many songs as I could. The supporters were still there and every Lens attack was greeted with yet more noise as they roared them on.

Then Touzghar was on the edge of the penalty box, spun and blasted a great shot past the keeper. The Marek went wild! Not soon after the stripy-headed Ljuboja chipped to the far past for the Argentinian Chavarria to head gleefully into the net for the lead before accepting the applause from on top of an advertising hoarding…more joy in the sun! I needed this lead to last though, and it was the Serb journeyman Ljuboja who broadened the smile on my face when he managed to spin on the touchline to knock the ball in. For the first time since Maoulida’s triple in April 2010 I had seen Lens score three goals. There was no chance now I would witness my favourite score of 2-2! In the second half it was up to Chavarria to jink his way past a couple of challenges to score the fourth goal and my smile couldn’t be wiped away. Areole, on loan from Paris, kept the visitors at bay as the celebrations began in earnest. I had witnessed my first victory in three years!

The traditional reunion between the Marek and the players was followed by the march of the band out of the stadium to round off my visit and as the fans streamed out I stood and savoured the moment, knowing I would not be experiencing it for a good few months. It was also something I had waited three years to experience once again as well as my first win in the Marek.

Chez Muriel - no doubt where their allegiances lie!

Yet my visit wasn’t finished yet. It was back to Chez Muriel to return Pascal’s ticket to Denis before a quick trip to La Loco where my lift to the reserve game was waiting. The friends I had made from the Worldnet tournament in Preston a month earlier all put in an appearance, with wives and girlfriends in tow and I once again was amazed by the welcome each one gave me. In so many ways it was another humbling experience.

The reserve game against Paris was an anti-climax in some ways but a more chilled affair, as I’d become accustomed to. The first team players as usual sat on the terraces at the far end, each one welcoming supporters like friends and more than willing to have photos taken and give autographs. I preferred to sit and watch the match that Paris dominated after a bright start from the Lens reserves. A hard-working Pierre Ducasse featured, who actually seemed bothered that he was stuck in the reserves when he should have been basking in the glory that the first team players had experienced that afternoon. A lively Ducasse pushed and prodded the others forward and there was no way that Lens deserved to be 2-0 down at half time.

Once decamped to Avion and were thoroughly enjoying the chance to goad the Paris players, especially the ones who were warming up by the side of the pitch…it was a shame I didn’t have a clue what they were saying although they certainly managed to wind them up and when Paris were reduced to ten men and Lens scored to make the score 2-1 the substitutes chose to warm up away from the Tigers’ taunts. As the final whistle blew, the over celebration of the Paris team showed how close they had come to giving away their win. There was even a bit of fun with a Paris flag waving at the end that seemed to annoy the locals but the relaxed evening’s entertainment had been worth all the effort.

Before my ride back to Lille with another Tiger, Vianney there was time for a gift from one of the Tigers which would see me through the winter in the North East of England. Before getting into his car he advised me to change my Lens shirt if I was to be wandering around Lille and it was at that point that I realised that nearly every piece of clothing I wore betrayed my allegiance to Les Sang et Or: right down to my yellow laces on my red trainers. The best I could do was swelter in my red cagoule as I stepped onto the pavement in Lille. Bidding farewell for the last time to another Lens friend who had put himself out to help me, I felt a great sense of belonging as well as the humility everybody had shown. Every thank you from me was met by a simple…”De Rien”, “Pas probleme”.

Everybody from Pascal who gave me his ticket to Thierry and his family who welcomed into their home to Mac who organised me, to Denis who waited for me and also missed the first Lens goal because he was waiting for someone else to arrive to Loulou and his family who combined taxi driving and bag minding to Vianney who had to suffer the reserve game so that he could take me back to Lille. Each of them had contributed to such a fantastic weekend although I might not take up my friend who said I could come fighting next time…a bit too old for that, perhaps.

After wandering around Lille searching for a pizza I eventually found a takeaway that was showing the Ligue 1 matches on multi-screen. I chuckled as Lille conceded another goal at Reims as did Valenciennes at Bastia. Valencienne’s anger at the prospect of Lens sharing their stadium, while Stade Bollaert was being redeveloped ready for the Euros 2016, had soured relations between the two teams so I felt they deserved to be treated the same as Lille.

I kept the owner of the take away informed of the scores and he seemed disappointed that both Lille and Valenciennes had lost. When I consoled him with the thought that Lens had won …his only response was “but they’re in Ligue 2.”

For the moment, I thought as I waited on the Leeds Boulevard for the 23 45 Eurolines bus that would start my journey back to Newcastle and my family who would be waiting for me at the bus station.

 I would be home in Newcastle at 15:30 the following day: my birthday. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present.