The cathedral does look magnificent, but unfortunately, with time also marching, we don’t have time to loot it, so we take a few pictures instead. We do march on, that particular purposeful stride of away fans in a remote city, we’re not just here to loot the cathedral, we’re here for the points. Three sumptuous feasts later, Coca Cola’d up and having used the code for the loos, we’re back on our way. Which perhaps explains why we’re soon in Burger King: this army will not march on empty stomachs. I don’t know the place at all well, other than it’s a city worth seeing, of old world charm and affluence, and we still have time to quickly take in the sites. Eventually we’re there, parked where I’d planned, halfway between the ground and the city centre. We get tense and restless as traffic slows, excitement giving way to some apprehension, just how long can this take. Soon, I’m showered and we’re on the M5 south, looking out for and spotting other Swindon cars heading on the same three points mission. So, I join nearly 400 others in Eastville Park enjoying this wonderful Saturday morning 5k ritual. While Euan is conveniently living en route in Bristol, Patrick hadn’t factored in my need to complete a parkrun. Sorry Patrick, it’s an early start for the trip down the M5 to Exeter. It’s the same game that soon sees us on the road to away games at Exeter and Cheltenham, full of bright, early season optimism, shared by increasing numbers of fellow supporters. For tomorrow, we can go to the Camp Nou, do the tour, sit in the dugouts, wander, and wonder in awe. We sulked through a family meal in a friendly restaurant near the beach as we tracked Swindon being unceremoniously dumped out of the League Cup at Colchester. We cared less about the result than the opportunity to see some new and fringe players, and earnestly discussed their merits and failings. Some sensible people like to boycott the pretty pointless Trophy we paid to watch our reserves play and lose to a Chelsea U21 team. We watched Swindon’s games on the iFollow subscription service. Still, old habits, own passions, die hard. The fierce heat, the maze of narrow streets, its majestic ramblas, even its extraordinary storm. Vilanova i la Geltrú, August 2019: the vivid colour and cracks of sounds of a proud, defiantly Catalonian traditional town at fiesta time. With Niamh and Euan hitting their twenties, we knew the probability of us having the five of us together was something to treasure, and boy, it was. Suitcases appropriately packed, we had a family holiday just south of Barcelona. □Pre-order (w/free shipping) still available until Sunday, hardbacks exclusive to us and they are VERY nice. Some lovely friends of Halcyon saying lovely things about Red Balloons by □□ It had been an impossibly special time, and as I delved for passports, I resolved that there would be plenty more memories to make.Įven without us, Swindon won at Scunthorpe. Two weeks later, we were fulfilling dreams in the San Siro, watching Inter against Fiorentina, my heart beating in a long-lost time of Italia ‘90: Schillaci, ‘Nessun Dorma’, Gazza, David O’Leary, Alan McLoughlin.įor Patrick, Swindon winning away at Carlisle, with his Dad, with his brother, was the one that counted. There were countless identikit thousands of Arsenal and Chelsea fans, they’d done this a thousand times before, bored with a new season before it started. Still buzzing from the Brunton Park experience and three points, the next day, Patrick and I went to the Community Shield at Wembley. Swindon won and raised hopes for a season that eventually, typically, unravelled and ended with barely a whimper. It was nature’s way of saving the day, and with the open road ahead of us, of course, we looked forward to the next match and the next week.īut instead, as I delved for swimming shorts, I wistfully remembered an opening day boys’ road trip for Euan, Patrick and I, Carlisle away, via Liverpool and Manchester from two years prior. A dishevelled and disheartened Swindon team were 4-0 down at half-time.Īlthough later, as the sun set over the expansive flatlands, there was a simply stunning murmuration of starlings. I was not entirely popular with Euan and Patrick for electing to pack suitcases rather than aim for the M1 and M18, despite an utterly abject outing there a few years previously. Swindon were away at Scunthorpe to start the season. We join them full of pre-season optimism in August 2019… It’s a desolate, yet hopeful journey through grief and the forlorn search for answers about Patrick’s death, seeking reassurance that the rest of us won’t drop dead, without warning. Full of dreams, full of smiles, full of being just 15. His son Patrick went to a football game and never came home. Red Balloons by Liam Walsh is a family footballing love story.
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