The quest to visit a football ground in all four home nations in one day was undoubtedly one of the biggest of all the undertakings since the challenges had started in 2014.
The challenge was actually the brainchild of Keith Nicholson, the man who had been instrumental in arranging for me to be a racehorse owner for a day in 2016. I thought it was a belting idea. Keith initially suggested that he might come along as navigator/photographer, but when a date was eventually agreed – during the summer of 2017 - Keith immediately booked a sunshine holiday with his good lady and declared himself unavailable!
Undeterred, I began to plan a provisional route around clubs that (according to the map, at least) weren’t too far off the beaten track. The most obvious obstacle was the Irish Sea, but with the Cairnryan ferry terminal being just a few minutes’ drive away from Stranraer's Stair Park, that seemed the most sensible Scottish ground.
There were several clubs located in Belfast, so that just left England and Wales.
The latter was a pretty straightforward choice. If it wasn’t Wrexham, it would be a bloody long trek down to the likes of Cardiff and Swansea – and I still had to get home afterwards. For the English club, I plumped for Wigan Athletic. There were a few possible candidates close to the M6, but an old friend (and former Gateshead Thunder rugby league coach) Steve McCormack was working for Wigan Warriors rugby league club, who shared the DW Stadium with their footballing counterparts.
Given the distance and the time constraints, I had to start in Belfast with a stop-off at Glentoran FC (on the advice of a couple of my friends), before catching the early ferry to Scotland. The crossing would take roughly two and a half hours – and we had to arrive at the terminal at least an hour before departure.
But once Stranraer FC had been ticked off, it would then be a case of pointing the car south and starting a minimum four-hour trek to Wigan. The last leg to Wrexham totalled less than 60 miles, but the slower roads meant it would still take at least another 90 minutes.
And I still had to get home afterwards…
Allowing for a 10-minute stop at each ground and given a consistent run of luck with the traffic (as well as no problems with the car), I estimated the whole day would take something in excess of 15 hours. I wanted to make the trip in the middle of the year to ensure as much daylight as possible (vagaries of the British weather notwithstanding). And, as it happened, Elaine and I were on leave for two weeks in June and would have a couple of free days after returning from a well-earned holiday.
Deciding to do the event on Friday 23 June gave me the time to get to Belfast on the Thursday and still have the weekend at home before having to go back to work.
It was at this point that Elaine decided she would come with me. I hadn’t wanted to put her in a position where she felt obliged to spend a day in a car with her husband, but the offer of a trip to the Titanic Museum in Belfast (a city neither of us had visited), and the promise of a large bag of mint humbugs were enough to tip the balance.
I had contacted all four clubs in advance to see if there was much interest in the challenge. I think it’s safe to say that unfortunately there wasn’t, but Steve McCormack went out of his way to make sure we’d get the chance to take photos pitchside at the DW Stadium. And I did at least get a reply from Wrexham to confirm that we wouldn’t be able to access the ground, as the Racecourse Stadium was due to host an Olly Murs concert the following evening – not a major issue as a photo outside the stadium would suffice.
I also received a message from the Glentoran secretary, offering to show us round the ground on the Thursday evening. I gratefully accepted … and never heard another thing about it!
So anyway, at five o’clock on the morning of 22 June, we left Middlesbrough for the west coast of Scotland to catch the lunchtime ferry across the Irish Sea. A quick calculation confirmed that the total distance we’d have to drive (door to door) would be something like 660 miles – my challenge was to be behind the wheel for the whole time we were on the road.
The trip to Cairnryan was uneventful, but the scenery was beautiful. The first 210 miles went without a hitch. But even though I knew the driving would be a bit of a test, I hadn’t expected to recreate an actual driving test…
When we were directed onto the ferry, a camera-carrying tourist darted right in front of the car, just as I was pulling away. The steward and Elaine both yelled and I instinctively slammed on the brakes. The emergency stop was successfully completed, and the tourist was angrily dispatched back to her coach by the steward.
We were the first car onto the deck – and would therefore be at the front of the queue to leave the ship in Belfast. We were shown where to park – it was on the ramp, on an uphill slant, with another vehicle no more than a foot behind me; and as we left the car and headed for the lounge (as they called it), I knew I’d be faced with a hill start in a car I wasn’t really used to, with a guaranteed thud (and insurance claim) coming if I missed the bite and rolled backwards. No pressure, then…
I have to say the ferry was amazing. The crossing was calm, the lounge really comfortable, and there was complimentary wine for the lady. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have bothered buying the humbugs …
When the moment came to disembark, the hill start went like a dream – much to my enormous relief. We were first off the ferry … and last out of the port, after the sat-nav decided to pack in.
We finally found the hotel and had a pleasant visit to the museum, before an early night in preparation for another five o’clock start the next morning.
First stop was Glentoran FC, just a mile or so from the hotel. When we found the ground, there were signs saying that the area was being used by a film crew. That explained why the words “Manchester City” were painted on the wall. The production must have been set in the “good old days”, because the prices above the turnstiles were all in shillings.
When we got to the gate, it was wide open. We strolled in, only to be confronted by a security guard who asked if he could help.
Spoiler alert: he didn’t.
‘We are doing a tour round all the four home nations in a day to raise mental health awareness, and just want to take a photograph …’
‘I can’t let you in, so I can’t.’
‘It’s quarter past five in the morning. We’ve travelled from north east England to get here, and it’ll only take 30 seconds …’
‘I can’t let you in, so I can’t.’
‘We’ve even got an email from the secretary …’
I think you can guess the next bit, so you can.
Elaine was philosophical; I wasn’t happy at all. But I knew this day wasn’t going to be easy. We got the best picture we could from the street, and set off for the ferry terminal.
The crossing back to the mainland was enjoyable, possibly because we had a massive breakfast which set us up for the majority of the day. The trip to Stair Park took no time at all, and once again the views were wonderful. Stranraer was duly ticked off – two down, two to go.
It took quite a while to reach the English border due to the volume of lorries on the predominantly single lane A77, but after joining the M6, we decided to have a quick stop and fill up with petrol – for the record, the unleaded petrol was a scandalous 20p per litre more expensive than our local supermarket.
Eventually we trundled into Wigan and found the DW Stadium – an impressive-looking arena. We were escorted out onto the pitch and Elaine showed off her photography skills. That was about as much as we had time for, before heading back into the car and onwards to Wales…
As we got closer to our fourth and final destination, the lack of service stations only heightened the need for a toilet stop. In the end, we found a huge garden centre just off the main road about five miles from Wrexham. Elaine thought there might be some time and an opportunity to browse. Suffice it to say, she was mistaken.
The Racecourse Stadium was fairly easy to spot, but parking proved a bit more troublesome. We ended up in what I think was a college or university campus, but after a short walk and a click of the shutter, the challenge was nominally completed.
The time was a quarter to five; 14 and a half hours after I’d forced that smile outside Glentoran’s ground.
There was still plenty of activity going on in preparation for the following evening’s concert, and I thought now would be a really good time to include some sort of pun using the title of an Olly Murs song…
An excellent plan, with one major flaw: I don’t think I know the title of any of his numerous (I’m guessing) hits.
Never mind. We strolled back to the car and when I switched on the engine, I looked at the milometer. It read 500 miles.
Olly Schmolly … what about The Proclaimers?!
I resisted the temptation to break into song. After all, we were still over 160 miles from home. It started to rain as we headed north, but thankfully it drizzled more than it poured, and the traffic wasn’t too heavy considering it was the end of the working week. We stopped at Birch services on the M62 to avoid the worst of the congestion, and emerged to a clearer road and much brighter skies.
We eventually pulled up in our drive shortly before nine o’clock. It had been a long, and at times exhausting, day, but the company had been fantastic, and the mood had been mostly upbeat ever since we’d boarded the ferry to Cairnryan.
I’d been really worried in advance about the possibility of delays, but the traffic and the roads were actually fine (apart from just a couple of slow stretches). I was so relieved that during the day, I’d never been in doubt that we’d complete the task.
Had I been on my own though, I’m sure I would have struggled more with the effects of fatigue. But having Elaine with me made a huge difference. It felt good to have completed a challenge that had been suggested by someone else (and Keith duly sent his congratulations from his sun-drenched Italian retreat). I flopped onto the sofa for a long overdue and much-needed glass of vino, and as soon as I took my first sip, all the events of the previous hours suddenly felt totally surreal.
Just so you know, alcohol after a long drive is a really bad idea; it goes straight to your head, you start feeling a bit fuzzy, and then (wait for it …) your heart skip, skips a beat…
The challenge was actually the brainchild of Keith Nicholson, the man who had been instrumental in arranging for me to be a racehorse owner for a day in 2016. I thought it was a belting idea. Keith initially suggested that he might come along as navigator/photographer, but when a date was eventually agreed – during the summer of 2017 - Keith immediately booked a sunshine holiday with his good lady and declared himself unavailable!
Undeterred, I began to plan a provisional route around clubs that (according to the map, at least) weren’t too far off the beaten track. The most obvious obstacle was the Irish Sea, but with the Cairnryan ferry terminal being just a few minutes’ drive away from Stranraer's Stair Park, that seemed the most sensible Scottish ground.
There were several clubs located in Belfast, so that just left England and Wales.
The latter was a pretty straightforward choice. If it wasn’t Wrexham, it would be a bloody long trek down to the likes of Cardiff and Swansea – and I still had to get home afterwards. For the English club, I plumped for Wigan Athletic. There were a few possible candidates close to the M6, but an old friend (and former Gateshead Thunder rugby league coach) Steve McCormack was working for Wigan Warriors rugby league club, who shared the DW Stadium with their footballing counterparts.
Given the distance and the time constraints, I had to start in Belfast with a stop-off at Glentoran FC (on the advice of a couple of my friends), before catching the early ferry to Scotland. The crossing would take roughly two and a half hours – and we had to arrive at the terminal at least an hour before departure.
But once Stranraer FC had been ticked off, it would then be a case of pointing the car south and starting a minimum four-hour trek to Wigan. The last leg to Wrexham totalled less than 60 miles, but the slower roads meant it would still take at least another 90 minutes.
And I still had to get home afterwards…
Allowing for a 10-minute stop at each ground and given a consistent run of luck with the traffic (as well as no problems with the car), I estimated the whole day would take something in excess of 15 hours. I wanted to make the trip in the middle of the year to ensure as much daylight as possible (vagaries of the British weather notwithstanding). And, as it happened, Elaine and I were on leave for two weeks in June and would have a couple of free days after returning from a well-earned holiday.
Deciding to do the event on Friday 23 June gave me the time to get to Belfast on the Thursday and still have the weekend at home before having to go back to work.
It was at this point that Elaine decided she would come with me. I hadn’t wanted to put her in a position where she felt obliged to spend a day in a car with her husband, but the offer of a trip to the Titanic Museum in Belfast (a city neither of us had visited), and the promise of a large bag of mint humbugs were enough to tip the balance.
I had contacted all four clubs in advance to see if there was much interest in the challenge. I think it’s safe to say that unfortunately there wasn’t, but Steve McCormack went out of his way to make sure we’d get the chance to take photos pitchside at the DW Stadium. And I did at least get a reply from Wrexham to confirm that we wouldn’t be able to access the ground, as the Racecourse Stadium was due to host an Olly Murs concert the following evening – not a major issue as a photo outside the stadium would suffice.
I also received a message from the Glentoran secretary, offering to show us round the ground on the Thursday evening. I gratefully accepted … and never heard another thing about it!
So anyway, at five o’clock on the morning of 22 June, we left Middlesbrough for the west coast of Scotland to catch the lunchtime ferry across the Irish Sea. A quick calculation confirmed that the total distance we’d have to drive (door to door) would be something like 660 miles – my challenge was to be behind the wheel for the whole time we were on the road.
The trip to Cairnryan was uneventful, but the scenery was beautiful. The first 210 miles went without a hitch. But even though I knew the driving would be a bit of a test, I hadn’t expected to recreate an actual driving test…
When we were directed onto the ferry, a camera-carrying tourist darted right in front of the car, just as I was pulling away. The steward and Elaine both yelled and I instinctively slammed on the brakes. The emergency stop was successfully completed, and the tourist was angrily dispatched back to her coach by the steward.
We were the first car onto the deck – and would therefore be at the front of the queue to leave the ship in Belfast. We were shown where to park – it was on the ramp, on an uphill slant, with another vehicle no more than a foot behind me; and as we left the car and headed for the lounge (as they called it), I knew I’d be faced with a hill start in a car I wasn’t really used to, with a guaranteed thud (and insurance claim) coming if I missed the bite and rolled backwards. No pressure, then…
I have to say the ferry was amazing. The crossing was calm, the lounge really comfortable, and there was complimentary wine for the lady. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have bothered buying the humbugs …
When the moment came to disembark, the hill start went like a dream – much to my enormous relief. We were first off the ferry … and last out of the port, after the sat-nav decided to pack in.
We finally found the hotel and had a pleasant visit to the museum, before an early night in preparation for another five o’clock start the next morning.
First stop was Glentoran FC, just a mile or so from the hotel. When we found the ground, there were signs saying that the area was being used by a film crew. That explained why the words “Manchester City” were painted on the wall. The production must have been set in the “good old days”, because the prices above the turnstiles were all in shillings.
When we got to the gate, it was wide open. We strolled in, only to be confronted by a security guard who asked if he could help.
Spoiler alert: he didn’t.
‘We are doing a tour round all the four home nations in a day to raise mental health awareness, and just want to take a photograph …’
‘I can’t let you in, so I can’t.’
‘It’s quarter past five in the morning. We’ve travelled from north east England to get here, and it’ll only take 30 seconds …’
‘I can’t let you in, so I can’t.’
‘We’ve even got an email from the secretary …’
I think you can guess the next bit, so you can.
Elaine was philosophical; I wasn’t happy at all. But I knew this day wasn’t going to be easy. We got the best picture we could from the street, and set off for the ferry terminal.
The crossing back to the mainland was enjoyable, possibly because we had a massive breakfast which set us up for the majority of the day. The trip to Stair Park took no time at all, and once again the views were wonderful. Stranraer was duly ticked off – two down, two to go.
It took quite a while to reach the English border due to the volume of lorries on the predominantly single lane A77, but after joining the M6, we decided to have a quick stop and fill up with petrol – for the record, the unleaded petrol was a scandalous 20p per litre more expensive than our local supermarket.
Eventually we trundled into Wigan and found the DW Stadium – an impressive-looking arena. We were escorted out onto the pitch and Elaine showed off her photography skills. That was about as much as we had time for, before heading back into the car and onwards to Wales…
As we got closer to our fourth and final destination, the lack of service stations only heightened the need for a toilet stop. In the end, we found a huge garden centre just off the main road about five miles from Wrexham. Elaine thought there might be some time and an opportunity to browse. Suffice it to say, she was mistaken.
The Racecourse Stadium was fairly easy to spot, but parking proved a bit more troublesome. We ended up in what I think was a college or university campus, but after a short walk and a click of the shutter, the challenge was nominally completed.
The time was a quarter to five; 14 and a half hours after I’d forced that smile outside Glentoran’s ground.
There was still plenty of activity going on in preparation for the following evening’s concert, and I thought now would be a really good time to include some sort of pun using the title of an Olly Murs song…
An excellent plan, with one major flaw: I don’t think I know the title of any of his numerous (I’m guessing) hits.
Never mind. We strolled back to the car and when I switched on the engine, I looked at the milometer. It read 500 miles.
Olly Schmolly … what about The Proclaimers?!
I resisted the temptation to break into song. After all, we were still over 160 miles from home. It started to rain as we headed north, but thankfully it drizzled more than it poured, and the traffic wasn’t too heavy considering it was the end of the working week. We stopped at Birch services on the M62 to avoid the worst of the congestion, and emerged to a clearer road and much brighter skies.
We eventually pulled up in our drive shortly before nine o’clock. It had been a long, and at times exhausting, day, but the company had been fantastic, and the mood had been mostly upbeat ever since we’d boarded the ferry to Cairnryan.
I’d been really worried in advance about the possibility of delays, but the traffic and the roads were actually fine (apart from just a couple of slow stretches). I was so relieved that during the day, I’d never been in doubt that we’d complete the task.
Had I been on my own though, I’m sure I would have struggled more with the effects of fatigue. But having Elaine with me made a huge difference. It felt good to have completed a challenge that had been suggested by someone else (and Keith duly sent his congratulations from his sun-drenched Italian retreat). I flopped onto the sofa for a long overdue and much-needed glass of vino, and as soon as I took my first sip, all the events of the previous hours suddenly felt totally surreal.
Just so you know, alcohol after a long drive is a really bad idea; it goes straight to your head, you start feeling a bit fuzzy, and then (wait for it …) your heart skip, skips a beat…
