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To Stoke-on-Trent yesterday to welcome home the conquering heroines as the Lionesses played Luxembourg. The train was held at Winchester for half an hour thanks to a broken down train in front of us, meaning I missed my connecting train at Basingstoke. Thankfully the train guard told me there was a direct train from Basingstoke to Stoke, albeit leaving an hour after our delayed arrival into Basingstoke. Headed for the platform cafe and sat down with a sandwich and a bottle of water to read for an hour.
Arrived in Stoke around 4 pm, and as I was leaving the station got a message from Rachel to say she was in the Harvester by the stadium. It turned out I’d exited the station by the back door, so had to roam around a bit until I found a taxi rank. Got to my hotel, unloaded and looked up the route to the Harvester by bus. It would have involved a fair bit of walking and taken about an hour, and Rachel had already been waiting for me 40 minutes as was, so I summoned an Uber.
The Harvester was packed with fans. Rachel was sitting at a table in the beer garden that had only one chair; a girl from Manchester we knew called Leanne was stood alongside. After saying hello I asked Rachel if they were doing food at the outside tables; she said no. So I had to settle for visiting the chip van parked on the nearby roundabout for a chicken burger and chips, quite tasty though. They were tempting enough for Rachel and Leanne to head for the van soon after my return.
We talked about the England squad selection, Rachel’s hope of getting to Australia for next year’s World Cup (alas, financial considerations and work commitments make it a non-starter for me), away trips past, and (in Rachel’s case) past Arsenal games seen. Rachel was holding Jules’, Ali’s and Kathy’s tickets so she had to hang on for them; with an hour to kick off, the others having messaged Rachel to say they were running late, we decided to walk over to the stadium, where Rachel would wait for them outside.
As I was sitting separately from the others, we agreed to meet back in the beer garden after the game and, after buying programmes (Rachel also bought the Euro Championship souvenir booklet; alas, I didn’t have enough cash on me) we parted to our respective entrances.
I was in a corner section eleven rows up with a great view of the pitch. There was an England flag, belonging to the family behind me, on my seat; the lady wasn’t happy when I said “Excuse me,” grousing that I could have moved the flag myself. Well, pardon me for not presuming to touch your property.
The European Championship Trophy was on a stand in the middle of the pitch. Jill Scott came out before kick-off to lift the trophy to the applause of the crowd. A nice send-off for a true Lioness legend. Sarina Wiegman was presented with her European Women’s Coach of the Year award, and we raised the roof.
England, as expected, triumphed 10-0 but fair play to the girls from the Grand Duchy, their heads never dropped and they made us fight for everything. Seeing Rachel Daly get on the scoresheet was a highlight, and it was gratifying to see Alessia Russo just as effective as a starting striker as as an impact sub. The Lionesses walked round the pitch at game’s end to generous applause, but the Stoke City DJ boobed, playing some current-sounding tune I didn’t know as the players went round. Hadn’t they been paying attention this summer? It’s Sweet Caroline after a Lionesses win!
Met Rachel in the beer garden. We got one of the tables with bench seats this time. Rachel said a lot of fans had got snarled up in late-running park-and-rides, including Kathy who hadn’t made it to the ground until half time. Amir spotted us and came over to join us. As we drank and chatted, news came in that the Lionesses would be playing the Czech Republic at Brighton on 11 October. From then on Rachel and I were buzzing about that trip; Amir said he might head for Ireland to watch the Girls in Green’s World Cup play-off that night.
Rachel needed to get back to her hotel to check in; she hadn’t been there yet, as her tickets hadn’t showed up in the post so she’d had to come straight to the stadium to collect duplicates. With Jules, Ali and Kathy stuck on the park-and-rides, we resigned ourselves to not seeing them, and decided to drink up, get a cab to Rachel’s hotel and go to a Spoons near there after she’d checked in.
A cab with a ‘Jump in - no pre-booking’ sign pulled up outside the pub. We hopped in and hit Rachel’s hotel. It looked quite posh from the reception. Amir and I waited there as Rachel checked in and went to dump her tiny black pack that was serving her as an overnight bag. We walked over to the Spoons. To Rachel’s chagrin, they’d stopped serving food at 11pm, minutes before we arrived, so we settled for biscuits or nuts with our drinks. I was delighted to see Black Dragon on the menu and ordered a pint, for nostalgia as much as anything, but minutes after I’d submitted my order a barman walked over and said they were out of Black Dragon - would Old Rosie do? I agreed. When my Old Rosie arrived Rachel asked “Is that custard?” She talked about a time she’d been served authentic scrumpy in Exmouth, complete with bits floating in it.
As we drank, Rachel looked up hotels in Brighton. I asked if she’d consider staying in Lewes, given the horrendousness of the massed crowd queuing for trains to Brighton after matches, but she said she hadn’t found the train experience too bad this summer. She found the Hotel Pelirocco, that bills itself as ‘the most rock ‘n’ roll hotel in Brighton’. One of its single rooms is Muhammad Ali-themed; Rachel snapped that one up straight away. Not about to be left out, I promptly booked their other single room, called ‘Do Knit Disturb’ - all the bedclothes, table coverings etc. are knitted. “This hotel is going to be jokes,” Rachel said approvingly.
Not wanting to be left sitting on my own again in Brighton - not only is it nicer to watch the match with friends, I didn’t particularly fancy being alone in the post-match train queues either - I asked Rachel if she’d sort me a ticket sitting with her and the group. She said she can’t get into her MyEngland fan account at the moment because of password issues. As I’m a MyEngland member I offered to be ticket organiser, and messaged the group on Messenger to ask who wanted in.
Chucking-out time came, and we said our goodbyes and “See you at Wembley” and Rachel and Amir started walking to their hotels while I summoned another Uber.
By late morning, Crystal, Amelia and Sue had all responded to the message to say they wanted Brighton tickets. On the train home, my heart leapt to my mouth when just after 12 noon, with me refreshing the ticket sales page that was due to open then, the internet slowed to a snail’s pace, but as we pulled out from the undercover Birmingham International station and back into the open air I got taken to the ‘you are now in the queue’ page. I was in the queue almost half an hour but then, thank goodness, bought 5 tickets without a hitch.
Arrived in Stoke around 4 pm, and as I was leaving the station got a message from Rachel to say she was in the Harvester by the stadium. It turned out I’d exited the station by the back door, so had to roam around a bit until I found a taxi rank. Got to my hotel, unloaded and looked up the route to the Harvester by bus. It would have involved a fair bit of walking and taken about an hour, and Rachel had already been waiting for me 40 minutes as was, so I summoned an Uber.
The Harvester was packed with fans. Rachel was sitting at a table in the beer garden that had only one chair; a girl from Manchester we knew called Leanne was stood alongside. After saying hello I asked Rachel if they were doing food at the outside tables; she said no. So I had to settle for visiting the chip van parked on the nearby roundabout for a chicken burger and chips, quite tasty though. They were tempting enough for Rachel and Leanne to head for the van soon after my return.
We talked about the England squad selection, Rachel’s hope of getting to Australia for next year’s World Cup (alas, financial considerations and work commitments make it a non-starter for me), away trips past, and (in Rachel’s case) past Arsenal games seen. Rachel was holding Jules’, Ali’s and Kathy’s tickets so she had to hang on for them; with an hour to kick off, the others having messaged Rachel to say they were running late, we decided to walk over to the stadium, where Rachel would wait for them outside.
As I was sitting separately from the others, we agreed to meet back in the beer garden after the game and, after buying programmes (Rachel also bought the Euro Championship souvenir booklet; alas, I didn’t have enough cash on me) we parted to our respective entrances.
I was in a corner section eleven rows up with a great view of the pitch. There was an England flag, belonging to the family behind me, on my seat; the lady wasn’t happy when I said “Excuse me,” grousing that I could have moved the flag myself. Well, pardon me for not presuming to touch your property.
The European Championship Trophy was on a stand in the middle of the pitch. Jill Scott came out before kick-off to lift the trophy to the applause of the crowd. A nice send-off for a true Lioness legend. Sarina Wiegman was presented with her European Women’s Coach of the Year award, and we raised the roof.
England, as expected, triumphed 10-0 but fair play to the girls from the Grand Duchy, their heads never dropped and they made us fight for everything. Seeing Rachel Daly get on the scoresheet was a highlight, and it was gratifying to see Alessia Russo just as effective as a starting striker as as an impact sub. The Lionesses walked round the pitch at game’s end to generous applause, but the Stoke City DJ boobed, playing some current-sounding tune I didn’t know as the players went round. Hadn’t they been paying attention this summer? It’s Sweet Caroline after a Lionesses win!
Met Rachel in the beer garden. We got one of the tables with bench seats this time. Rachel said a lot of fans had got snarled up in late-running park-and-rides, including Kathy who hadn’t made it to the ground until half time. Amir spotted us and came over to join us. As we drank and chatted, news came in that the Lionesses would be playing the Czech Republic at Brighton on 11 October. From then on Rachel and I were buzzing about that trip; Amir said he might head for Ireland to watch the Girls in Green’s World Cup play-off that night.
Rachel needed to get back to her hotel to check in; she hadn’t been there yet, as her tickets hadn’t showed up in the post so she’d had to come straight to the stadium to collect duplicates. With Jules, Ali and Kathy stuck on the park-and-rides, we resigned ourselves to not seeing them, and decided to drink up, get a cab to Rachel’s hotel and go to a Spoons near there after she’d checked in.
A cab with a ‘Jump in - no pre-booking’ sign pulled up outside the pub. We hopped in and hit Rachel’s hotel. It looked quite posh from the reception. Amir and I waited there as Rachel checked in and went to dump her tiny black pack that was serving her as an overnight bag. We walked over to the Spoons. To Rachel’s chagrin, they’d stopped serving food at 11pm, minutes before we arrived, so we settled for biscuits or nuts with our drinks. I was delighted to see Black Dragon on the menu and ordered a pint, for nostalgia as much as anything, but minutes after I’d submitted my order a barman walked over and said they were out of Black Dragon - would Old Rosie do? I agreed. When my Old Rosie arrived Rachel asked “Is that custard?” She talked about a time she’d been served authentic scrumpy in Exmouth, complete with bits floating in it.
As we drank, Rachel looked up hotels in Brighton. I asked if she’d consider staying in Lewes, given the horrendousness of the massed crowd queuing for trains to Brighton after matches, but she said she hadn’t found the train experience too bad this summer. She found the Hotel Pelirocco, that bills itself as ‘the most rock ‘n’ roll hotel in Brighton’. One of its single rooms is Muhammad Ali-themed; Rachel snapped that one up straight away. Not about to be left out, I promptly booked their other single room, called ‘Do Knit Disturb’ - all the bedclothes, table coverings etc. are knitted. “This hotel is going to be jokes,” Rachel said approvingly.
Not wanting to be left sitting on my own again in Brighton - not only is it nicer to watch the match with friends, I didn’t particularly fancy being alone in the post-match train queues either - I asked Rachel if she’d sort me a ticket sitting with her and the group. She said she can’t get into her MyEngland fan account at the moment because of password issues. As I’m a MyEngland member I offered to be ticket organiser, and messaged the group on Messenger to ask who wanted in.
Chucking-out time came, and we said our goodbyes and “See you at Wembley” and Rachel and Amir started walking to their hotels while I summoned another Uber.
By late morning, Crystal, Amelia and Sue had all responded to the message to say they wanted Brighton tickets. On the train home, my heart leapt to my mouth when just after 12 noon, with me refreshing the ticket sales page that was due to open then, the internet slowed to a snail’s pace, but as we pulled out from the undercover Birmingham International station and back into the open air I got taken to the ‘you are now in the queue’ page. I was in the queue almost half an hour but then, thank goodness, bought 5 tickets without a hitch.
