4am on Tuesday morning, the 24th May and the alarm clock goes off. Swiftly accompanied by my mobile phone alarm and then the wife's mobile phone alarm, finally a phone call from my mum asking me "are you awake?" I lay there in bed after this bombardment of noise and collected my thoughts. I was about to trek across Europe to see Liverpool win the European Cup. I was convinced; absolutely convinced we were going to win it. I don't know why I was so positive, I just was. I remember thinking that this was going to be one of the landmark weeks in my life.

A quick cup of coffee, a final check for the passport and money (I didn't have a ticket in my hand as I'd arranged to meet Sutty over there) and off I went. The journey to Stansted took about two and a half hours. Largely uneventful, apart from a flatulent old geezer who was sitting next to me on the coach from Victoria to the airport. He actually kept lifting his arse to one side to let the farts out. In the end I had to say to him "will you cut that out?" He apologised and told me "it's the onions, they play havoc with me guts".

I'd booked a flight from Stansted to Sofia and arranged with a bloke from RAWK called Esselle to jump in on a coach he'd chartered from Sofia to Istanbul with 16 other blokes. It all went well and I met them in good time at Sofia airport and off we went for a ten hour journey. The driver of the coach was quickly christened Ron Jeremy as he bore a striking resemblance. As the journey progressed he started to answer to his new moniker as we asked "Ron, stop 'ere, mate, I need a piss" or "Oi, Ron we're running short of booze 'ere, mate pull over".

We arrived in Istanbul at about 4am and were quickly shown to our rooms. I hadn't booked one but was told by the Turkish bloke who owned the hostel that if I went to the bar and had something to eat and drink the room came free. Now, I'd had been told that in Turkey I'd need all my negotiating skills to get the best deal. On this occasion, I decided the deal was to my satisfaction so I ordered an Efes and a kebab as I flung my bag into the room. The locals were very friendly and kept us well stocked in beer, the owner even brought a bottle of whiskey out (I wish he hadn't) and shared it among us. At 7am I finally retired to my room and fell right off to kip.

I woke up with a start. There, looking over me, I saw a gummy smile from some old Turkish bloke standing next to my bed "Come on, come on" he shouted "Istanbul very beautiful place, you go (makes very loud snoring noises)". I laughed. What was he doing in my room, anyway? I threw my clothes on and looked at the clock. It was 12 noon. Time for a beer, I think. I leave my bag in the hotel (taking all my valuables out of course) and tell the guy on reception that I'd give him 10 euros when I got back.

I went to the same bar I'd been to the previous evening, no sign of the others I'd travelled with but the manager was there and he quickly made me feel at home with a beer and delicious lamb salad. As I drank the beer I got a message from Sutty telling me he was in Taksim Square. I decided another beer was in order before I built up my strength to hail a cab. I noticed the bloke opposite me is reading horse racing form. I say "horse racing, you bet?". "Yes", he replies. "Bet there", pointing to a basement bookies just across the street. That'll do. So, I wander over and have a bet on number 5 (fifth Cup tonight?) I quickly become the centre of attention, everyone wants to know what I've backed. Then they shake their heads. They are friendly and shake my hand and shout Liverpool. One well dressed man buys me a beer and says "Good Luck". The horse trails in second last. I wave goodbye and as I climb the stairs I look back at a multitude of people waving at me and smiling in delight at visiting them. I'd only known then five minutes.

Cabs came and when I mentioned Taksim Square the drivers shook their heads and left without me. I walked down a bit, turned the corner and was greeted with the sight of a huge cruise ship moored on the Bosphorus. It was spectacular, it seemed to dwarf the river and the building around it.

I managed to grab a cab and set off on what others have described as the "Wacky Races". As we crossed the river the sight of the locals fishing off the bridge will live long in my memory, as will the utter chaos of the traffic. I arrived at Taksim and was almost immediately met by Sutty's kind words, "you're pissed". "Cheers mate, nice to see you, too." (I wasn't by the way. I was emotional). I knew the ticket was 150 euro but I didn't know what that was in sterling so I just handed Sutty a blank cheque and said "you sort it out". I was then greeted by other familiar faces Mrs Sutty; RP; Will; Anny Road and Vic. Two cabs were commandeered and I set off with Vic and the Suttys. The cab driver was a maniac, the cab was bedecked with scarves and Sutty was holding his flag out of the window. Passing drivers gave us the thumbs up and beeped their horns. All this, and the music was blaring out of the radio. We were living the highlife, indeed. I remembered thinking to my self, "Jeez, life doesn't get much better than this". I freely admit that I had a tear in my eye as we passed the smiling faces of the local drivers and spontaneous waving from locals just walking down the street.

Then, on the road to the stadium the traffic built to a slow moving snake of cabs, cars and buses. The roads were made but the sides were just banks of orangey-yellowy mud. In the last town before the stadium (which by now was on the horizon) locals lined the road side - kids, adults, scallies, and grandparents. They were waving flags / placards / pieces of paper. What a welcome! They all had smiles on their faces, they seemed over-joyed to see us. They made us feel like royalty - Sutty was even touching their hands and royal waving to them. I swear he was saying "no autographs." By now I was well and truly gone. I was crying, laughing too. It was total enjoyment. I will never, ever forget that feeling. It was pride, it was joy, and it was the raw emotion of being a Liverpool fan in Istanbul. (Yes, Sutty, it may have been the ale). I needed a pish and asked the cabbie to stop. I go the lowland route and fall over in slushy, glagging orange mud, ruining my shoes. Sutty goes mountain climbing and shouts down "See, I told you he's pissed".

So, we get to the ground and I meet up with a good friend of mine outside. We have a chat and come across a distraught couple who have lost their son. He's got his mum's ticket and he's nowhere to be seen. I lend them my mobile to call him, no joy. The local scallies want £300 for a ticket (this is 10 minutes before kick-off) and they are preparing to pay it, when a red comes over and says they can have his ticket as his mate couldn't make it and had given him strict instructions to GIVE it to a fellow Red who was struggling. Makes you feel proud, doesn't it?

In the ground, up the gangway, up the final flight of stairs and then a low hum greets me. Some bloke flies out of the stand. "Eff it, eff it", he's shouting, "Milan have scored". I didn't believe him. Sure enough, the scoreboard had a great big 1-0 on it. I was in shock then I saw a familiar face, then another and another. Jonesy, RP and Anny Road. I didn't bother looking for my seat (I was in the wrong section anyway), I just went over and stood by them. One nil became two nil and swiftly three nil (what a goal that was, the way). We looked at each other in shock, no way back now we said to each other, let's just enjoy it. "Eff it, let's just sing" we said as one. Up go the shouts, "oh, we'd rather go to Warsaw then Madrid" and "just like a team that's gonna win the UEFA Cup (again)". I was trying my best to get a song going, standing on my seat waving my arms in the air (like a madman). The phone goes, it's my mum. "God, son, this is awful. I can't believe it. Are you glad you went?" I gave her the honest answer "Yes". Then I added, "we can still do it, you know" (In my heart I didn't believe the last words I'd just uttered). She signed off with "I've said a few prayers to St Jude" (the patron saint of impossible causes), I'll speak to you after the game".

We all know what happened in the 2nd half on the pitch. In our bit of the ground, there was me falling off my seat after every goal, loads of embraces, astonished looks and the almost out of body experience of being there to witness the greatest comeback in European Cup history.

Dudek's knowing nod. That's when it happened to me. Ask a God squander, ask a member of a sect, ask any convert to the road they deem righteous or true. Someone who has been to the depths and now has risen to the surface and breathed their first gulp of air. I had back my belief in us winning number five. The penalties were a formality, we couldn't lose and of course we didn't. I went berserk, joy unconfined. The phone goes, it's my mum "That effin' St Jude, he's different class. I knew he'd do it for us. I knew it!" "I know", I replied. "You can stick yer St Peter and yer St Paul where the sun don't shine. I'm a St Jude man from now on"

On the coach back we had a good sing-song, led inevitably by Anny Road. All good fun. Then, not satisfied with winning the European Cup, he decides to go on the charm offensive with two rather attractive ladies. What's his opening gambit to woo these lovelies? "Have you got any ale in that bag?" She shakes her head. "You're hopeless you, you could have fitted about eight cans in there." He's then in full flow. In fairness, they love his "technique". So much so, as we get off the coach they're in tow (with an Aussie bloke) as we hit the nearest bar. Food and ale is flowing as we discuss the comeback of all time. Others arrive, Tetti and Jon Hall. Sadly, not the Suttys or Vic (they were in some brothel, I believe). Sutty would have been going on and on about me being pissed anyway. At this stage he'd have been right, too.

It's now daylight. We go in search of another bar. No luck. We say our goodbyes and I'm off to get my bag. I arrive at the hotel reception and the bloke is sitting there reading my book!!! Page 125 to be exact. "Very good book, very funny" He says calmly (The Road To McCartney). "I wouldn't know, I haven't read it yet". Adding, "why did you go searching in my bag, anyway?" "Ahh, bag could be bomb", throwing me a big wide smile. I had read the book and decide to give him the book as payment for his "looking after" my bag. He was chuffed, we shook hands and I left.

A cab ride later and I'm at the international coach station. A collection of blokes asking where you are going and taking you to the office that provides the service. Nothing doing until 6pm that night. It's 8am and I don't fancy hanging about this place for 10 hours. I remember Vic saying he might get a cab to Bulgaria, so I decide to phone him via Sutty's phone. No answer. I'll try later. There's a bloke and his nephew in a similar situation to me and we decide to get a cab to Taksim to "re-group" (OK, have more beer) and while away some hours. We are sitting there and this bloke has a strange look in his eyes and every so often he shakes his head. Then he starts telling me the Latin names of all the trees. He looks and sounds like a nutter. Might have to make a sharp exit soon. He goes to the loo and I ask his nephew is his uncle OK? Yeah, he said he just can't believe we've won the European Cup. He's in shock and every so often the realisation hits him. Oh, and don't worry about him talking about trees. He works at a botany centre in Southampton. By now, my phone is running out of juice and I need to get hold of Sutty/Vic. I call again, and again, and again. Sutty later tells me he had 37 missed calls. Oops! The Turkish bar owner overhears me saying my phone is losing power and asks me the make. I tell him it's a Nokia. Next thing, he's been to the shop and bought me a Nokia charger. How's that for friendly? I, in my typically English manner say I couldn't possibly accept and offer him the cash. He won't have it and says "I love Liverpool!"

Finally, I get through to Sutty. "You're pissed" (getting my own back, there). "Yep", he answers groggily. I'm coming to the hotel. I buy a paper in Taksim, say goodbye to the botanist, the bar owner and the nephew and off to chez Sutty, lovely hotel, too. I feel something in my shoe. Taking it off I find a one inch stone in there. I've been walking around with it in my shoe since falling over having a slash before the match. Mrs Sutty is in stitches at my stupidity and proceeds to tell everyone what I've done. Thanks! Everyone is reading the paper. Vic falls in love with the "it's as if at half-time God changed sides" piece. Off for more beer and meeting up with Murph, Matty, Gravy, etc. I'm trying to cajole Vic into thinking about the coach at 6pm. He's having none of it, Matty is a bit more responsive and goes to look up the alternatives (a cab) which he reckons will cost a good few hundred Euros. Sutty's on a wind up, too. "Will you stop panicking, Andy". Vic chimes up with "you've got to do things the hard way when you're abroad watching Liverpool". I put my foot down with a firm hand and make a move. We say our goodbyes. Vic, Matty and I arrive back at the coach station to buy the last 3 tickets to Bulgaria.

The coach is full of Bulgarian shot-putting women, talk about getting representatives of a country from central casting. We stop for something to eat, lamb stew in my case. Then, about an hour down the road, I feel my tummy rumble. I want to fart, but I'm too scared. We cross the border, the shot putters have done their smuggling for the day and the guards have their payoff. But my arse is clamped as tight as the safe in the Bank of England. Eventually, I ask the driver to stop. I run for the bog and let it all out. I walk back to the coach about 8 pounds lighter than when I left it. I still feel dicky, though. Next thing, it's like a scene from the Exorcist as I projectile vomit all over the streets of Bulgaria. Still, it's all out and only an hour to Sofia and the hotel I booked over the net. We get to Sofia and the cabbie hasn't got a clue where he's going. He drives us through the meanest streets. Run down and ramshackle. Eventually, we find the hotel (at 4am) shown to our room, which is lovely and has 3 single beds Result. We all get some zeds and I'm up early to buy some Immodium. It's at times like this that I am grateful for my liking of "Give Us A Clue" on the telly, as I mime what I want from the chemist. They don't seem to understand the words "shits" and "dicky tummy". So, I rub my tummy pretend to sit on the bog and pull the chain. No, I don't want haemorrhoid cream emphasising the chain pull. "Ahh", makes fart noise and nodding then gets the right stuff. Sorted.

Take the tablets and off to a local bar for a beer and some inedible food. We pay up, taxi to the airport and then the three of us have time for one last beer before we go our separate ways. The plane is full of Liverpool fans and the captain says "Welcome to Hungarian Airlines, it is our honour and pleasure to transport so many Liverpool fans back to England. The weather in London is sunny but there are a lot of gloomy Manchester United, Arsenal and Chelsea fans walking the streets."

Cue the massive cheer. I well up again as another thunderbolt of realisation hits me. I think of my family, friends and the things I done and seen over last four days. "Yeah" I say in response to the captain's kind words "and I'm going to make their lives hell".