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  • Further to my acrostic poem about the football crowds,
    here is the story.

    Travelling from Ireland to London is like travelling back in time for me.
    I spent hours on the tube when I was eighteen and working in public relations.
    in the West End of London.
    I love living in a country town in Ireland now. I need the peace and gentle bustle of country people.

    When I changed on the London Underground at Baker Street for Northwick Park, I encountered a platform full of nervous policemen and cheerful, charging, football fans swarming onto two trains, heading for Wembley. I guess I admired their enthusiastic energy; but within that admiration was fear of being squashed in the train or even trampled.

    I edged my way into the narrow aisle away from the crowd squeezing in round the main doors to the carriage and wished heartily that I could close my ears.
    The chanting was overpoweringly loud and intrusive.

    I hung on to a pole to steady myself and wished I was somewhere else.
    I thanked the universe that it was a cheerful crowd hoping for a win; instead of an angry crowd, crowing for revenge after their team had lost.

    thankfully when we arrived at Wembley all the fans rushed off the train leaving me unscathed apart from a bad headache.
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