I was at the airport once more on March 11th 2015, travelling to London to see Chelsea play Paris St. Germain in the second leg of their Champions League tie. The tie was finely balanced at 1 all from the first leg. I was expecting an exciting game. Little did I know.
I flew to Gatwick and waited for Sean to arrive on the flight from Dublin. When I landed at 11.50 I got a text from Sean just after I landed to say that his flight wouldn't take off from Dublin until 11.55, so I'd be knocking around for an hour and a bit until he arrived. I decided to check into the hotel and was just about to board the shuttle train to the North Terminal when my phone buzzed. It was Sean. The text said "Landed. 12.03" Take off at 11.55, landed at 12.03. That's 8 minutes. The fastest crossing of the Irish Sea since Concorde was decommissioned.
We checked into the Premier Inn near the North Terminal. There are two Premier Inns at Gatwick. Given how standardised their business model is I don't know what distinguishes the other one from ours, other than ours was £39 for the night. The other is a staggering £59. We deposited our bags and headed off into London Town.
When we got on the train we donned our PSG hats and scarf
and tried to get someone to pick on us. We were hoping that the Chelsea Board might give us seats in the directors box if we could only get someone to shout abuse at us. No one batted an eyelid. Fail.
When we arrived at Victoria we decided to pay a visit to Westminster Cathedral. That's our one. The other one, where Charles and Diana got married is Westminster Abbey. It is an amazing building. From the outside it isn't that impressive except for the tower, which looks fairly tall. It reminded me a bit of the church on Bird Avenue. Inside is a different story. It is enormous with numerous small chapels extending off a dramatic navel. Ever keen for a free tour we noticed that the museum display for the cathedral has a sign outside it, "Free visits today". We went upstairs to the museum. It was set out in a number of small rooms, each focussing on different aspects of the cathedral. One room was dedicated to displays of relics of saints. These relics are actually bits of the saint's body, chopped off their bodies after death, and preserved in some sort of case and embalming fluid. One very interesting relic was some unidentifiable body part of St. Oliver Plunkett. The relic was mounted in a silver case. The inscription on the silver case said that the relic had been given to the cathedral on the occasion of the truce between the British and the Irish in June 1921. I couldn't read who the donors were but I did find out subsequently that local Catholics had been complaining in 1920 that the relic was not being stored in a manner befitting a saint. So, it is possible that only the silver case was donated but that the relic had been there some time. Oliver Plunkett trial for treason in Dundalk in 1680 collapsed as witnesses wouldn't turn up. He was retried in Westminster in 1681 and hanged, drawn and quartered. His head is now in Drogheda having been previously in London, Germany and Bath. His is a life worth reading about even if you've no interest in religion.
We tried to gain access to the tower, thinking the view from the top must be fantastic. The lift was out of order and, having pushed open a dingy looking door in a dark corridor we came across an elderly man eating a sandwich at a desk. In a strong Wexford accent he told us that the lift was being repaired and would be working again the following week. We asked if we could walk up but he said that the health and safety police had banned access to the stairs a few decades ago. It was the lift or nothing. Since there was no lift, it was nothing.
When we left the cathedral Sean noticed one of the most unusual things we'd ever seen. A guy was standing near a small wall with something attached to his forearm. Upon closer examination we saw that it was some kind of bird of prey. I thought it must be some kind of elaborate begging scheme, perhaps an intricate puppet that would peck at giggling tourists in return for donations. Cautiously, we approached the man and his avian pal. I asked him was he some kind of street theatre act. He laughed at that. "Not at all" he said " I work for a pest control company". It turns out that the bird of prey was a Harris Hawk. It is used in urban settings for deterring vermin and unwanted other birds such as pigeons. He would release the bird every five to ten minutes and it would cycle around the area looking for food. He told us that it returned to him only when he would produce some food himself. "Harris Hawks aren't loyal" he said. "If you want loyalty, don't get a raptor" he added, somewhat unnecessarily. Sean and I were sure that neither Scamp nor Crosby would ever like to come across this Harry Hawk.
We left the cathedral environs and walked down to Westminster. We tried to gain access to the House of Parliament but were told there was a queue which couldn't be bypassed. The police woman informed us that the current debate was on horses and ponies and later they would be discussing cross border organised crime. We said we wanted to get into see that debate and she said to come back later as she was sure the queues would be gone by then.
We were heading in the direction of the Apple Store in Covent Garden. Apple had just launched the Apple watch the day before and we wanted to be one of the first people to see it. As we left Trafalgar Square this Range Rover came flying around the corner with a siren blaring.
Behind it was black Bentley with privacy glass on the back. We guessed it was David Cameron but it in all probability it was some gak from X Factor.
We walked another couple of miles and soon found the Apple Store. It is huge. We looked everywhere but couldn't find the watch. I asked a security guard. 'Its not here until next month mate" he said. I expressed incredulity, in a joking way and added that we had flown from Ireland just to be amongst the first to see it. He didn't laugh. "Ain't you got no phones in Ireland then" he added.
When we left the store we decided to cycle to Earls Court for our customary pizza routine before a match. We hired out our two Boris bikes and headed on our way. Sean knew the route and was flying along by the river bank. Amazingly on two occasions passing cyclist shouted abuse at us. We were going too slow for these macho Lycra clad carbon fibre bike men. Its a pity we hadn't still got our PSG gear on, we could have made the directors box after all. We arrived at Earls Court in good time and entered our usual pizzeria, La Pappardella. I expect we have eaten here a hundred times. Luigi showed us to our seats. No surprise with my order of Quattro formaggi pizza but Sean had recently eschewed his favourite Regina pizza for lambs liver. Luigi, almost imperceptibly, raised his left eyebrow at Sean's order. That's about as surprised as he gets. In any case, nothing remained on either plate at the end of our repast.
Suitable fed we ambled down to Stamford Bridge, about 2km away. The atmosphere was excited as we approached the ground. Unlike last year when Chelsea met PSG at this stage having to over turn a 3-1 defeat in Paris, this time the crowds before the game relaxed and looking forward to an exciting match but definitely a Chelsea win. Before the match started Sean and I put on our PSG hats and scarves again but no one attacked us. We realised that our plan had failed. We would not be watching from the directors box after all. We were in our usual seats, just the Shed End side of the half way line in the East Upper. We arrived before Neville and his son Henry who have the seats next to us. On our other side were a father and son we hadn't seen before. The reason we hadn't seen them before was because they were French. Like Sean and I in Paris, they had only been able to get seats in the Chelsea seating area. They were keeping their heads down.
PSG started very brightly and looked like they were up for a good match. I thought they would have been better adopting Atletico Madrid's tactic from last year and play a defensive first half and come out all guns blazing in the second half.
But no, they started in attacking fashion and were playing the better football. With half an hour gone a mistimed tackle led to PSG losing their top striker Ibrahimovic to what looked to us like a harsh straight red card. Chelsea now had a one man advantage and there was over one hour to play. It was a turning point in the match. Chelsea suddenly lacked urgency and played as if it had been preordained that they would win. PSG defended stoutly and were energetic on the counter attack. Verratti impressed me. We expected the José would put a rocked up the Chelsea boys at half time but no...... the second half continued pretty much the same as the first. It was a cranky business with off the ball pulling and dragging and pretty childish scuffling at all times. Gary Cahill scored with less than 10 minutes to go. We were sure to go through. Or so we thought. With only 3 minutes to go our former player and chief antagonist on the night, David Luis, pops up from a corner to rocket a header into the net and even up the game. He didn't hold back with the celebration either which annoyed the Chelsea fans who normally liked him. It was boos for Luis from then on. We went into extra time and got a penalty early on. Hazard slotted home easy enough. It was still PSG who looked like they had the extra man. Hazard had played well but the rest of the team looked tame. Tiago Silva, who gave away the penalty, scored with 5 minutes to go. The match stood at 2-2 but PSG would go through since they had scored away from home twice and we had only score once. The final whistle blew and as we left with the throngs the general sense amongst the Chelsea faithful was that the better team had gone through and had got their rewards for effort and skill. Cavani, Verratti and Levazzi when he came on were brilliant.
We decided to cycle back to Victoria station to get the Gatwick Express back to the Premier Inn at the airport. I'd not cycled in the city at night before but Sean seemed confident and off we went. Cycling down the Kings Rd, through Belgravia and Mayfair was a refreshing way to end a disappointing night from a soccer point of view.
We stocked up on grapes and drinks at the 24 hours M&S at Gatwick Airport. How do M&S find those grapes. Its like they're a different fruit to the grapes in other shops. Anyhow, we had two punnets each.
The next day Sean was gone before me as his flight was at 9 whilst mine was at 12. I had a new experience at airport security. At the scanner machine where they check you through a scanner and your jackets and bags on a belt dray scanner, a new system had been put in place. Five sets of numbered footprints had been placed along the belt and people were asked to queue behind each of these numbered stations rather than in one snake like line as used to be the case. I was in line 3. When the person in front vacated their spot I stepped forward, placing my feet on the painted on footprints on the ground. The died blonde forty something security officer looked at me, rolled her eyes and said, "Welcome to the madhouse love".
I though the system worked well and should be able to put more people through than the traditional line system.
On the plane the guy next to me started chatting. I thought by his dress code, tweed jacket, plaid shirt and tie, chinos, that he was coming from Cheltenham. He looked like he might own a horse. It turned out he had been an accountant with an insurance broker in London and was now developing his own property business in Brighton. He lived in Clydagh Valley, Killarney with his wife and two sons and commuted every week to London. His name was John Knausgobbler. Not a Kerry name you might say. His father was German and had worked as a chef in the Great Southern hotel in Killarney. He came to Ireland after the war and fell in love. During the war he had been fighting on the Eastern front and was captured by the Russians. He spent 3 years in a Russian POW camp. We know how the Germans treated Russian POWs so I can only imagine it was pretty rough being in a German prisoner in a Russian POW camp, especially as he was only 16 when he was captured. He was freed after the war. Some ten years later he was walking down the street in Killarney and who does he see, one of his fellow prisoners from the POW camp. This guy, Helmut, had not been immediately released. In fact he was only released by the Russians in 1953, some 8 years after the war ended. There's a documentary waiting to be conducted there. Why did the Russians hold on to some German POWs after the war ended.
Anyway, Mr Knausgobbler senior came to Ireland in 1952 to work in the catering sector and improve his English. He met and married a woman from Longford, and settled in Killarney. His wife, and mother of the Mr Knausgobbler junior who was sitting beside me on the plane had a cousin a priest. That priest was T'Aithair O'Mhurchu. T'Aithair O'Murchu was the priest who baptised me in St. John's Tralee, almost fifty five years earlier. Its amazing what you come across when you follow Chelsea.
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| They've not gone away you know |
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| Sean and I try to get attacked |
When we got on the train we donned our PSG hats and scarf
and tried to get someone to pick on us. We were hoping that the Chelsea Board might give us seats in the directors box if we could only get someone to shout abuse at us. No one batted an eyelid. Fail.
 |
| Oliver Plunketts relic |
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| Harry Hawk |
When we left the cathedral Sean noticed one of the most unusual things we'd ever seen. A guy was standing near a small wall with something attached to his forearm. Upon closer examination we saw that it was some kind of bird of prey. I thought it must be some kind of elaborate begging scheme, perhaps an intricate puppet that would peck at giggling tourists in return for donations. Cautiously, we approached the man and his avian pal. I asked him was he some kind of street theatre act. He laughed at that. "Not at all" he said " I work for a pest control company". It turns out that the bird of prey was a Harris Hawk. It is used in urban settings for deterring vermin and unwanted other birds such as pigeons. He would release the bird every five to ten minutes and it would cycle around the area looking for food. He told us that it returned to him only when he would produce some food himself. "Harris Hawks aren't loyal" he said. "If you want loyalty, don't get a raptor" he added, somewhat unnecessarily. Sean and I were sure that neither Scamp nor Crosby would ever like to come across this Harry Hawk.We left the cathedral environs and walked down to Westminster. We tried to gain access to the House of Parliament but were told there was a queue which couldn't be bypassed. The police woman informed us that the current debate was on horses and ponies and later they would be discussing cross border organised crime. We said we wanted to get into see that debate and she said to come back later as she was sure the queues would be gone by then.
We were heading in the direction of the Apple Store in Covent Garden. Apple had just launched the Apple watch the day before and we wanted to be one of the first people to see it. As we left Trafalgar Square this Range Rover came flying around the corner with a siren blaring.
Behind it was black Bentley with privacy glass on the back. We guessed it was David Cameron but it in all probability it was some gak from X Factor.
 |
| X factor dude |
When we left the store we decided to cycle to Earls Court for our customary pizza routine before a match. We hired out our two Boris bikes and headed on our way. Sean knew the route and was flying along by the river bank. Amazingly on two occasions passing cyclist shouted abuse at us. We were going too slow for these macho Lycra clad carbon fibre bike men. Its a pity we hadn't still got our PSG gear on, we could have made the directors box after all. We arrived at Earls Court in good time and entered our usual pizzeria, La Pappardella. I expect we have eaten here a hundred times. Luigi showed us to our seats. No surprise with my order of Quattro formaggi pizza but Sean had recently eschewed his favourite Regina pizza for lambs liver. Luigi, almost imperceptibly, raised his left eyebrow at Sean's order. That's about as surprised as he gets. In any case, nothing remained on either plate at the end of our repast.
Suitable fed we ambled down to Stamford Bridge, about 2km away. The atmosphere was excited as we approached the ground. Unlike last year when Chelsea met PSG at this stage having to over turn a 3-1 defeat in Paris, this time the crowds before the game relaxed and looking forward to an exciting match but definitely a Chelsea win. Before the match started Sean and I put on our PSG hats and scarves again but no one attacked us. We realised that our plan had failed. We would not be watching from the directors box after all. We were in our usual seats, just the Shed End side of the half way line in the East Upper. We arrived before Neville and his son Henry who have the seats next to us. On our other side were a father and son we hadn't seen before. The reason we hadn't seen them before was because they were French. Like Sean and I in Paris, they had only been able to get seats in the Chelsea seating area. They were keeping their heads down.
PSG started very brightly and looked like they were up for a good match. I thought they would have been better adopting Atletico Madrid's tactic from last year and play a defensive first half and come out all guns blazing in the second half.
We decided to cycle back to Victoria station to get the Gatwick Express back to the Premier Inn at the airport. I'd not cycled in the city at night before but Sean seemed confident and off we went. Cycling down the Kings Rd, through Belgravia and Mayfair was a refreshing way to end a disappointing night from a soccer point of view.
We stocked up on grapes and drinks at the 24 hours M&S at Gatwick Airport. How do M&S find those grapes. Its like they're a different fruit to the grapes in other shops. Anyhow, we had two punnets each.
The next day Sean was gone before me as his flight was at 9 whilst mine was at 12. I had a new experience at airport security. At the scanner machine where they check you through a scanner and your jackets and bags on a belt dray scanner, a new system had been put in place. Five sets of numbered footprints had been placed along the belt and people were asked to queue behind each of these numbered stations rather than in one snake like line as used to be the case. I was in line 3. When the person in front vacated their spot I stepped forward, placing my feet on the painted on footprints on the ground. The died blonde forty something security officer looked at me, rolled her eyes and said, "Welcome to the madhouse love".
I though the system worked well and should be able to put more people through than the traditional line system.
 |
| Sean has promised himself this car when he wins the lotto |
Anyway, Mr Knausgobbler senior came to Ireland in 1952 to work in the catering sector and improve his English. He met and married a woman from Longford, and settled in Killarney. His wife, and mother of the Mr Knausgobbler junior who was sitting beside me on the plane had a cousin a priest. That priest was T'Aithair O'Mhurchu. T'Aithair O'Murchu was the priest who baptised me in St. John's Tralee, almost fifty five years earlier. Its amazing what you come across when you follow Chelsea.
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