Oct 15
I have had a tremendous summer of travel, but my head spins when I think about where I have been and some of the absolute sadness and tragedy that many of these places have had to deal with, and how lucky I’ve been to miss some of these awful events.
It was 21 hours from the time the alarm went yesterday morning at 4.30am (after getting in bed at 1.30am), until I got home last night. Today I am shall we say, a little bit fuddled.
But it was all worth it to spend a weekend with a great set of lads and the groom, to whom I am deputy best man, a role I have yet to fully understand except I do have the (dis)pleasure of making a speech at the wedding in a months time.
I left Barcelona with a real positive feel about the Catalonian city. I didn’t get to see anywhere as much of the city as I would have liked, stag weekenders strangely are not always about flying around monuments and museums taking photographs, but those of us that did so on Saturday were joyfully rewarded by a city with spectacular architecture and a bewitching personality.
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For this Addick, it is not to SE7 on Saturday to party but to Barcelona.
Some while ago my mate, a fellow Addick, was planning his stag weekend. The dates bounced about a bit and every time he proposed a weekend I would take a quick glance, as I am sure he did, at the fixture list.
Blackpool was toyed with to coincide with the Preston game, I seriously proposed a good old knees up in Blackheath for this weekend and varying other European destinations were deliberated. Football was central to the outcome so Lisbon, Belgrade, Rome and even Dortmund were considered.
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Chicago Addick 