“I reckon I could throw a lemon over those buildings.” That absurd statement snaps me out of a brief moment of reflection. For a split second, I was taking in what was happening around me. Here I was, sat at a table in a bar on a city centre square in Wrocław, Poland. To the left of me, one of my mates, a teacher, is discussing the lack of Welsh history on the school curriculum with one of the current vice-presidents of UEFA.
On my right, three of my mates are debating whether it’s possible to throw a citrus fruit over the adjacent buildings (it wasn’t, but they weren’t far off). My parents are at the end of the table, chatting away over a pint of the local lager. I notice friends walking past that I haven’t seen since the last trip; I beckon them over for a chat. They’re heading to a nightclub called Heaven—how pertinent.
Wrocław is rammed full of Welsh fans of all ages and genders. Some are having a leisurely drink and a chat, others are bouncing around to the soundtrack of chants about Jonny Williams and Chris Gunter before breaking into a number denouncing the impending Queen’s jubilee. There are even a few starting to nod off after one too many beers and an early flight.
It was the night before a pretty forgettable Nations League defeat in 2022. But as we often remind each other on these trips, it’s not really about the football, is it?
This moment was one I’ve become pretty accustomed to over the last 20-odd years of following Wales around Europe and the world. My entry point was more appropriate for a young boy: watching us play England, Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. That eventually evolved into the odd trip to Liechtenstein, Bulgaria and Serbia as a teenager. By the time I Ieft school in 2013, I had fully embraced the Wales away life and have only missed one trip since.
