Not being men for half measures, it was decided that the Lille trip would be a full on cultural expedition. Several Redsmen had expressed an interest in a French trip so about 9 minutes after the Lille draw; the Reds Independent IT department had a few flight tickets arranged. Not a mere Lille via Belgium 24 hour job for us Das Kapital was also to be taken by the Reds.

Fast forward a couple of weeks and five men gathered in Dublin Airport for pre-flight pints. The talk of garlic, stripy jumpers and Yves Saint Laurent socks was rampant. Various theories on French ladies were also discussed. Safe in the knowledge that a man named O’Gee was in charge of our “nations” defence we took off for French soil. Given the well renowned frugality of certain Redsmen it’ll come as no surprise that we flew with Scabair to their Paris equivalent. I think we landed in Bantry, after the cross channel swim a tedious bus journey was negotiated.

Paris at last! A quick bit of Franglais helped us check in and out we went. A Brazilian bar near Oberkampf was the first port of call but after a round of 5 pints for 50 euros we were out of there in search of locals. We weren’t to be disappointed as we came across a bar full of stripy jumpers and banging of garlic. Soon the fine libation that is Desperados was discovered and it was time to hit the underbelly of French society. The more devout Catholics amongst us were appalled as the Moulin Rouge was descended upon by excited Redsmen. The night ended drowned in tequila flavoured beer and threats of fat brassers.

Thursday morning! Out we went into the Parisian sunlight, not exactly fresh from the night before but excited none the less. Off to see the Reds! The train brought us fairly sharply to Lille and once we’d checked in at Claude and Jacque’s we set out to find the others.

A couple of hours were wiled away before heading to the Stade Metropole. A good crowd of Reds had amassed given the amount of European trips.

There was a bit of a subdued air about the Reds support. It seemed as if no-one had gotten over the sight of a near empty Lansdowne Road. There was a general feeling that this would be the end of the road. This seemed to be reflected in the team too. It was a fairly defensive Reds team that took to the park at Stade Metropole. After the last 15 minutes at home to Lille it seemed wrong to not go out all guns blazing seeing as though we needed an away goal. That sadly didn’t materialise and Les Dogues proved to be a step too far. Goals from Milenko Acimovic and Matt Moussilou left the Reds two down at half time and there was no way back. Europe was over but who’d have expected what we achieved?

It was a long aul route we were forced to take from the stadium. Amused by Lord Julian Charles of Port-reactionary and life size subbuteo sets most Reds were suddenly feeling better.

A gathering fanzine scribes and associates descended upon the student area. One of the more excitable lads thought he’d found a Red Lighter with free samples. After taking his “sample” kiss, our economic friend decided it best to find out the price of a larger “sample”. Let just say petite Nicole was unimpressed and our Romeo was left lonesome.

The rest of us piled into a tiny boozer that got the equivalent of a year’s business. Much merriment was had as the local baguette carriers watched on. The pubs licence was “liberated” and any hint of tequila flavoured ads were smuggled out too. The later it got the more ridiculous it got. No quicker than you could say “tu as un preservatif” one wing of the Reds had headed off to the forest while the others flocked to the G Bar.

The next morning the then European City of Culture (Cork me bollocks) was bathed in fine sunlight. Several Reds had already taken off but the more determined travellers set sail for Paris once more.

The Champs-Elysee, the Bastille, a load of Elodies and a pile of merde were all viewed by the wandering Reds. Once more we set to out to take on the French night life. We found ourselves somewhere near Montmartre and visited one of the most legendarily shite techno clubs of all time. A quick exit was made and we hit a more attractive maison for a few Kronenburgs. Much like the Reds this night proved a step too far, Desperados fell temporarily out of favour, lads fell asleep in shady boozers and the most talked about sandwich ever was consumed.