Much like a previous Euro-trip the football turned out to be the lowlight of the whole visit. Read the match report if you want to find out what we had to endure, a 1-0 win which left fans in a mood more like that after a loss.

Prior to the game the place d'Arme had increasingly filled up with Town supporters. The band, by now not the rather tuneless jazz lot from earlier, were playing in the square and as the afternoon went along the urge to join in became too strong for many fans. The brass band numbers were interlaced with terrace chants aimed at various targets.

Norwich, obviously, were recipients of a few bursts before David Sheepshanks appeared in the square for some hand-shaking and was regaled with "You're going to sell all your players..." after which he er.. sheepishly wandered off.

Mrs Hreidarsson has become cult heroine since, according to popular legend, she persuaded Hermann to stay with Town. Even women who looked a bit like her were revered in song, fans claiming there was only one Mrs Hreidarsson, news she will presumably be pleased with.

The music continued, the conductor (dressed in Town colours by this time) getting his lads to play We Are the Champions with vocals from several hundred Town supporters.

A few minutes earlier a game of musical chairs had started in the middle of the square much to the bemusement of locals and tourists who weren't there for the football, some of whom even videoed the game for posterity. I can see them now back in Virginia or wherever, saying to there friends "...and here's some of those mad English soccer fans you hear about, playing a vicious game of musical chairs."

After meals were eaten it was off to the Stade Jose Barthel. Jose Barthel was apparently a famous runner in the 1950s who won a gold medal in the 1500m at some tournament or other, probably the Olympics.

The large number of (by now) sweaty English fans did not please some locals on the bus, one French-speaking woman throwing a bit of a Sereni at her husband before requesting that the bus driver let her get off. That was even before the bus had moved. I didn't think we looked that scary, well not most of us anyway.

The area around the ground had been closed off by police who were carrying the scariest-looking handguns. The handles themselves looked threatening enough without having to see the actual guns but which happily remained ensconced in their holsters.

Once past the police and the nightclub-style security people there was a chance to buy the sub-fanzine print quality programme and a Beggen shirt. The shirts were not of the usual replica variety, but were shirts worn by the brave lads of Beggen in previous seasons, and for a bargain 10 Euros. I picked up an elegant early 80s Adidas pinstripe effort in yellow and black replete with one of those filled in v-neck things that seventies shirts used to have. Oh, and it has 'Nobilis' written across it.

The ground itself is not a football ground but an athletics venue. So it was surprising to discover that it had fences between us and the pitch, just like in the bad old days. Town fans took up one side of the ground with Beggen supporters and other interested Luxembourg-based spectateurs on the other side and behind the goal to our right. Of the 2,971 fans who turned up, around 2,000 or so of those were ours.

Despite the victory those 2,000 or so left the ground in lowish spirits, heading in large numbers for the place d'Armes or bars in the Gare area of the City. Many fans are in hotels in that area which, unsurprisingly given its name, is by the station. Gare includes the red light district and some impossibly tacky looking clubs.

Some of the bars were shut, although how much this had to do with fears about English fans we weren't sure, a lot of places were shut anyway due to the Assumption Day holiday. Away from the ground the police were evident but not in the martial law-type way we saw in Milan or in Moscow.

A few more Bofferdings were consumed before it was back to the hotel to catch up on some well needed sleep. Today will be spent preparing for the trek back to stylish Charleroi and then back to Blighty and the reality of Nationwide League football.

Photo: Action Images

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