The season starts and I'm.......

So just as the new football season was about to start we found ourselves travelling down to Avignon, to stay with Martine and Jean-Jacques for a couple of weeks. Martine has been a friend for more than 33 years, in fact ever since I picked her up from Norwich Station on a very hot July evening in 1975. Now Principal of a Business School, Martine spent a year in England as an ‘exchange teacher’, the result of an introduction made by another long time friend, Didier, who now lives just outside of Montpellier.

The south of France has held a fascination with so many people for centuries. The Romans were the first to wake up to the potential of the region and invaded in the 1st century BC – clearly they weren’t daft, as Tavel and Chateauneuf-du-Pape are undoubtedly very fine wines. Then in the 14th century the Pope determined that the Papacy would be better served with a holiday home in Avignon rather than Tuscany.

And today it is the turn of the British. The extension of the Home Counties to embrace Vaucluse and the rest of Provence no more than an attempt to extend the Fulham Broadway beyond the Tube Station and Kebab Shop.

And sandwiched in between our time in Avignon…..a few days in Barcelona.

Barcelona is a vibrant city, but one in danger of being overcome by the insatiable demands of young people.

During the long hot summer months the streets and metro experience the daily crushing migration of sun worshippers from home to beach to bar. And by 8pm the many desirable and exclusive restaurants are hidden away under a sea of tattoos.

Yes, Barcelona, once famous only for its football team and a few iconic buildings designed by Gaudi, has discovered economic growth.

New apartment blocks and offices are stretching the city boundary ever outwards and upwards. The port now modern and busy, seamlessly joining the city with the Mediterranean.

And new transport links with the rest of Europe, good hotels and clean beaches underpin the rampant growth in prosperity.

Without researching the genetics of such a renaissance I would imagine that the Olympics, in 1992, can claim much of the credit for the change in urban fortune. And this despite the sporting legacy being no more than a 20th century replica of the Roman Arènes de Nîmes and the aqueduct at Pont du Gard. Yes, the Olympic Park is now forlornly stranded in Montjuic, high up above the city, with about as much chance of getting to the beach and sea as Noah, when he woke up to find himself stuck on top of Mt Ararat.


I have no doubt most of the UK danced the night away in celebration of the Team GB Gold in the Yngling Class.

Yes, probably just like all of Spain in 1992, when they finished 6th in the medal table, with 13 gold, 7 silver and 2 bronze.


But four years later Team Spain lost its funding and dropped to 13th in the table, with a return of only 4 gold medals. And today they continue to languish in 13th place, again with just 4 gold medals, helped in part by Rafa Nadal winning the tennis. So much for the Spanish Government’s commitment to the long term development of sport.

Perhaps now is a good time to say, ‘no’ to the all so common Government obsession of intervention and ‘spending’ driven by political vanity alone.

Resting beside the pool in Avignon I found it predictably frustrating trying to keep up with the score from Accrington Stanley, in our opening match of the season – Aldershot Town FC, back in the Football League.

But then I only have myself to blame. Avoiding the pain of emails and the addictive fascination of the Internet is a discipline to be upheld, if relaxation is to be total. And so with a Trappist heart but a head full of, ‘who is playing in midfield….is Morgan going to partner Grant up front?’ I lay back and waited for the ‘plaintive call of a text’.

For much of Saturday evening, August 6th it was 0v0. Then in the early hours of Sunday, the final score of, Accrington Stanley 0 Aldershot Town 1, popped up on my phone. Followed six hours later by a picture taken of the ground just before kick-off. And then a video message of Scott Donnelly’s beautiful free kick was received to complement the aperitifs, before dinner on Sunday night!

The midweek Carling Cup game at Coventry was, however, much more straightforward – my brother sent a text at full time, ‘Shots lose’.

And with the phone not quite fully acclimatised to the heat of Avignon, I received a picture of the Aldershot crowd being held back after the home game with Bournemouth, 24 hours before I received a pre-match picture, taken from our ‘new seats’ in the North Stand. And the final score of 1v1 was known long before I received the half-time message telling me it was 0v0.

Gosh, I am pleased to be home………and with four points secured from the opening two league fixtures, we can look forward to Shrewsbury Town on Saturday with an optimism well and truly founded on the exuberance of our play last season.