Cruising the Three Seas, part 4 (finale)

Our cruise ended where it began, in Dubrovnik.

Because we had a late flight home, this turned into a bonus day of exploration. Sarah and I went for a little wander into the port, where we found giant pencils and a Pope.

But the real highlight was discovering the uanassuming-from-the-outside, very-cool-on-the-inside Red Museum, chronicling the history of communist Yugoslavia.

Not much to look at from the outside 

The museum is a mix of history detailing how Yugoslavia came into being and artefacts from the communist era, which began in armed struggle against the Nazi occupiers in World War 2.

I kind of knew that Marshall Tito broke with Stalin and kept Yugoslavia independently communist. It allowed for a more consumer-focused state with promoting tourism as official policy.

Remember Yugo cars? I do!

The Sarajevo Olympics were the first winter Olympics held in a communist country. I liked their wolf mascot!

It was a fantastic, interactive museum with the opportunity to listen to top Yugoslavian tunes of the era.

It turns out this was the only museum I made it to on the cruise holiday, but I would rate it 10/10. And it had a fun little gift shop too. (Even the communist museums make you exit through the gift shop!)

So that was the final bonus morning of the cruise. We were able to have lunch on board the ship before getting in the coach for a very scenic ride back to the airport. 

Cruise whimsy

The crew of the Marella Explorer 2 were all lovely and some had a real gift for whimsy. The cabin stewards on the turn-down service amused themselves with crafting animals out of towels. It was always fun heading back from the evening entertainment and wondering what towelimals would be waiting for us.

There were some other quirky touches on board as well. Nobody ever explained the fibreglass cows.

I think I saw a blue cow too, but I didn't take a picture. 

Here's a top tip - magnetic hooks to hang stuff on the walls. Dave had done his pre-cruise research and bought a really useful set. I ended up with a cap rack at my end of our cabin.

Speaking of cabins, this signage amused me. Signs don't just get put up for no reason. I suspect some buffoon has hung his suit from a fire sprinkler in the past!

I was impressed by how well oiled the various processes were. On our last night we left our hold luggage outside our room and it was whisked away and sorted out. We didn't see it again until it appeared on the carousel in Birmingham Airport. Things like that made the trip very easy. 

We had one minor issue when my sister got glutened by one of the restaurants. I've learned that customer service is judged best when something has gone wrong and people try to set it right. At our next mealtime the head waiter hovered over us to make sure everything was OK and extra care was taken to make sure my sister's plates were absolutely gluten-free.

A side effect of studying business psychology is looking at workplaces and trying to ascertain the culture. The crew vibe seemed very positive, professional and yet informal. The captain introduced himself as Captain Richard in his announcements and stood on the quayside saying hi to passengers as they disembarked. All the staff were happy to chat and answer questions about ship life. They were friendly without being false and I can't commend them highly enough.

On our last evening on board, after the entertainment show concluded, members of the crew were all invited up onto the stage to receive a round of applause too. It was a lovely way to recognise the whole team, and the whole team deserved to be thanked for making our trip so brilliant. 

Kurt Vonnegut's 55 year-old commentary on the American Poor

In Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut (published in 1969), there is a character called Howard W. Campbell Jr. He is an American traitor turned propagandist for the Nazis, operating like Lord Haw-Haw, during the second world war. 

There is a section of the book purportedly taken from an essay by Campbell about how American prisoners-of-war are so much worse in terms of behaviour than prisoners from other countries. Campbell wants to explain to his fellow Nazis why his countrymen are like this. 

It's an interesting take and I wondered how much of it might have been the author's own insights into the way American society functions. It definitely resonates with some of the political selfishness spilling out of the poorer parts of the USA in the past decade or so.

This is how Campbell explains things:

"America is the wealthiest nation on Earth, but it's people are mainly poor, and poor Americans are urged to hate themselves. To quote the American humorist Kin Hubbard, 'It ain't no disgrace to be poor, but It might as well be.' It is in fact a crime for an American to be poor, even though America is a nation of poor. Every other nation has folk traditions of men who were poor but extremely wise and virtuous, and therefore more estimable than anyone with power and gold. No such tales are told by the American poor. They mock themselves and glorify their betters."

(Unlike Campbell, Kin Hubbard was a real person; an American cartoonist and humorist who died in 1930.)

And then a bit further on, some more of Campbell's words:

"Americans, like human beings everywhere, believe many things that are obviously untrue... Their most destructive untruth is that it is very easy for any American to make money. They will not acknowledge how in fact hard money is to come by, and, therefore, those with no money blame and blame and blame themselves. This inward blame has been a treasure for the rich and powerful, who have had to do less for their poor, publicly and privately, than any other ruling class since, say, Napoleonic times."

"Many novelties have come from America. The most startling of these, a thing without precedent, is a mass of undignified poor. They do not love each other because they do not love themselves."

There are two things that have occurred to me reading this. The first is this seems to fit with the political rage of the MAGA movement that has been so prevalent in the past decade or so. Particularly the idolising (and idolatry) of Donald Trump, who has no redeeming features except that most American of virtues - the appearance of being rich. And why they rage against "socialist medicine" being "un-American", preferring to risk bankruptcy if they get cancer than seeing that affordable or free healthcare for all benefits everybody. 

The persistency with which the American poor vote against their own interests has been referred to as a mindset that they aren't poor, they are just temporarily embarrassed millionaires, and one day the money truck will stop at their house and they don't want to be made to share. 

It also explains why American religious identity has had such a garish obsession with wealth. To the best of my knowledge, America has never spawned its own ascetic movement. The Amish, the Shakers and the Quakers were all imports from the Old World. America's gifts to Christianity are the Prosperity Gospel wealth-and-health movement with private jet evangelists, and Mormonism which literally promises it's most faithful adherents that they will each rule their own planet one day.

The second thing that occurred to me is that Vonnegut deliberately puts these un-American heresies into the mouth of a traitor because there would be no way to have a true American think these terrible things. And yet, these observations are so acute, it doesn't seem that he is just giving his character stuff to say. There is a ring of truth to these condemnatory words, which is maybe why he needs to distance himself from them. 

And 55 years after the book was published, the words still ring true. 

Books of the Month - three pieces of speculative fiction

I have been bitten by the reading bug lately and this is the second book of the month post in a row featuring three novels. This time all three are speculative fiction (as discussed previously). 

I'm going to review them in the order I read them. The first book was another pick up from TK Maxx. 

The Power - Naomi Alderman

This book was published in 2016 and imagines what would happen if women suddenly developed the power to conduct electricity (the Power), establishing them as the dominant gender. It's framed through being written as a fictionalised history written by a man in a future civilisation, 5,000 years hence. Throughout the books are drawings of archaeological discoveries dating from the time period being written about.

The framing includes advice from an editor that it seems far-fetched that men were ever the dominant sex. There's also a rather patronising suggestion that the fictional author considers publishing it under a female name to avoid it being categorised as women's literature. I wondered if the real author had been on the receiving end of similar sentiments.

The book follows several female characters who either develop the Power of have it awakened in them. All the characters are in some way oppressed, abused or overshadowed by men, and the Power enables them to break free. There is also one male character who is chronicling the impact the Power has on various societies and it's really through his eyes that the shift becomes noticeable, as he finds it increasingly unsafe to be in the presence of women.

I was interested in the development of a women-centred and led religion, evolving rapidly out of Catholicism, which echoed the growth of populist movements in organised religions that sometimes outflank the established ecclesiastical structures. It felt believable to me, because new religious movements can take root and spread very quickly - and would be much more robust if they were linked to a sudden societal change like the emergence of the Power. There is, however, a natural explanation for the sudden emergence of the Power, although details are kept to a minimum. 

There's a bit of gore and violent vignettes, including some sexual violence. There are some loose threads that are left frayed at the end of the book. But overall, there are plenty of points that made me think about gender politics, and the reversal of power dynamics was sometimes amusing, sometimes frightening. The unwillingness of the female editor in 5,000 years time to accept the idea that women aren't just naturally aggressive, for example, made me smile. 

Slaughterhouse Five - Kurt Vonnegut

I bought this book in a deal at HMV because I had never read it and it appears on most lists of classic books one should read. I knew it was about the wartime firebombing of Dresden. I assumed it would be a straight up war book. I was wrong. 

This is the second Kurt Vonnegut book that I've read. A few years back I read Breakfast of Champions. I didn't like that much, and, truthfully, although I can see why this is considered a classic novel, I didn't like this book much either. I think it's just that I don't get on with Vonnegut's style. 

Having said that there are moments and throwaway lines in this book that are almost instantly memorable. There is a very early comment that foreshadows the destruction to come when the narrator says that Dresden post-war must have "tons of human bone meal in the ground". 

There is another cynically comical comment about a woman who "Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops." With lines like that, I feel I really should have liked the book more!

The main character in the book is called Billy Pilgrim. The plot device is that he has been abducted by aliens from the planet Tralfamadore. He now experiences all of time all at once, which is a side-effect of travelling on a flying saucer. So his recollections of the war, being captured, being incarcerated in a converted abattoir (Slaughterhouse Five) that ironically protects him from the firebombing, and being involved in the grim clean up operation in Dresden afterwards, are mixed up with his life after the war, his family, his capture by aliens and subsequent captivity in a zoo amusing Tralfamadorians, and so on. 

I think it was that fantastical aspect that I found difficult. On reflection, it did distract from the absolute horror of what happened in Dresden. The vivid description of pulling bodies from the rubble afterwards ('opening up a corpse mine') and there being too many dead people to deal with other than incinerate them perhaps needed leavening with the alien abduction and Billy's happier post-war experiences. 

It might all be meant to indicate that Billy has gone mad as a result of his wartime experiences. But it's played with a straight bat - although, I guess, madness seems real to the person experiencing it. It may just be that it's Vonnegut's way of processing what he witnessed in Dresden and he needs to make this fantastical to deal with the fact that the worst bits of the story actually happened. 

There was some interesting commentary on the American poor, which I will save for another post. And the idea of experiencing time in a concurrent way rather than as causal consecutive moments felt very up to date - covering similar ground to some of the chapters in Existential Physics, which was my Book of the Month back in June. Not bad, considering Vonnegut published this in 1969.

The Boys from Brazil - Ira Levin

The other book in the HMV deal, and the second book by Ira Levin I have read this year. I reviewed The Stepford Wives last month. As with Stepford, I knew the basic premise of this story - Nazis in South America have perfected cloning and are seeking to restore the Third Reich.

What I didn't expect - the same as with Stepford - was to get quite so gripped by the story. The slow reveal of what is going on happens for both the main character, ageing Nazi-hunter Yakov Liebermann, and for the reader. The scene where Liebermann encounters his second teenaged clone was incredibly well done, and I really got a sense of the world slipping sideways for the character as he tried to process what he was seeing. 

Because the book was published in 1976, the science behind cloning has to be explained - even the word 'clone' has to be explained. I suspect this was cutting edge knowledge at the time of publication - but I was intrigued by how even then there was speculation that some governments had already been cloning larger mammals and maybe even humans. I remember the fuss in the late 1990s about Dolly the Sheep who was announced as the first sheep to be successfully cloned. So it was interesting to read characters speculating about it twenty years earlier. 

It's a short book that concludes with a discussion about the morality of killing children that might grow up to be evil. Liebermann and his anti-Nazi allies have to hope that the boys from Brazil defy their genetic heritage. The ultimate ending of the experiment is left ambiguous as to what might happen, which I quite liked for the ending. 

Books of the Month - a trio of twentieth century novels

Recently TK Maxx has had a great selection of books available below list price. (Including several different editions of Nineteen Eighty-Four, which felt a bit odd.) Over the last couple of months I've bought some older fiction that caught my eye. I'm going to review them in chronological order, starting with the oldest.

Fiesta: The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway

I'd never read any Hemingway, and this might not have been the best novel to start with. However, it sounded interesting from the blurb on the back. The basic premise is that a bunch of dissolute American ex-pats living in Paris in the mid-1920s decide to go to Pamplona to see the running of the bulls and the bullfight there in the fiesta. 

It's not all bullfights and drinking. Along the way some characters go fishing. There's a deep love for angling in the writing, almost as much as there is fascination for bullfighting. Within the group of tourists there is a woman who is the object of attention for several men, including the narrator, who is carrying a war injury. It's never spelled out but the inference is his wound prevents him from functioning sexually. 

And that's about it. The various infatuated men either get with the woman or don't. The narrator seems detached from all their drama. The Spanish and French characters are just background or mainly there to be patronised. There's some antisemitism and a one character discusses a black boxer he admires using the N word to describe him. 

And fair enough, the book was published in 1927 so what else would be expected. It's an outsider's viewpoint with an ingrained superiority and yet a hollow sense that the people they are so superior to actually have more authenticity. The main characters flit through and observe, are amused by what they see, and then flit off and in the process are utterly meaningless. The fiesta would happen with or without them.

Overall it hasn't inspired me to actively seek out any more Hemingway. It had its moments. (If you like fishing, I think you'd like that chunk of the story!) But I wasn't sorry to finish reading it. 

Coming Up For Air - George Orwell

From the mid-20s to a novel published in 1939 and full of semi-prophetic foreboding about the looming war between Britain and Germany. There's a weighty inevitability to the coming conflict that is reflected throughout this novel - but it's what will come after that really terrifies the protagonist, an era of secret police and endless propaganda. 

When I read On 1984 by DJ Taylor, which was a book about how Orwell wrote that book, this novel and Homage to Catalonia were mentioned as feeding into the key ideas of Nineteen Eighty-Four. Having read both books now, I see what Taylor meant. There's a lot here about the way memories preserve things that have been otherwise obliterated by progress and how the world was going to change. 

The book is set in four parts. In part 1, George, the 45 year-old protagonist is unsettled in his life as an insurance salesman, married with kids and trapped in suburbia. In part 2, he recounts his life growing up in a little Oxfordshire village, his experience in the First World War and his subsequent career in sales,  made possible by the social upheavals caused by the war. In part 3, the hatches a plan to use some money that his wife doesn't know about to fund a trip back to the village he grew up in. And in part 4 he makes the trip which ultimately ends up in disappointment and realising that you can never truly go back. 

There is quite a bit of humour in the book, particularly George's life story. There are several vignettes that capture some true-to-life experiences and observations of people. We stray into some unprogressive views when George the protagonist (and possibly George the author) shares some negative opinions about women, although in fairness several male characters come in for a verbal bruising as well. 

Orwell is good at describing archetypal characters, like men living on faded glories, the genuinely wealthy, the penny-pinching middle-class who don't have funds to match their status, the tory-voting suburban families desperately working to pay their mortgages, and the hard-working, perpetually screwed-over poor. He has particular fun mocking the earnest young men who are various shades of communist and argue fine points of political dogma as if any of it matters. George (and probably George as well) are older and wiser than that and recognise it's all futile.

Despite that negative cast to the story, and the depressing conclusions drawn by the protagonist as his trip doesn't work out as he naively expected, I enjoyed reading this. I find Orwell a very readable author. His character's inner monologue is engaging, and while George the protagonist makes no claim to be a hero or a good person he is extraordinarily sympathetic. I might not have felt that if I had read the book when I was younger, but now I'm in my 40s and slightly horrified how long ago my school and university days are now, I get where he is coming from. 

The Stepford Wives - Ira Levin

And so this trio of reviews jumps forward to the 1970s. This is a very short book, with incredibly lean prose. A lot is left to the imagination with one sentence or a short paragraph summing up key events that move the story forward.

I knew the basic outline of this story without ever having read it or seen any of the film adaptations. The main character is Joanna Eberhard, who moves with her husband, Walter, and children to the seemingly idyllic community of Stepford. She soon notices there is something odd and docile about most of the other women in the town and the few free spirits she encounters seem to be creepily changed somehow after a few months living there. 

The basic gist is that the men of the town have a secret society and have found a way to turn their partners into "perfect" housewives. Joanna realises she needs to escape from Stepford to avoid a similar fate and the story takes a tense turn as she flees. That section was very well written and I had to keep reading to find out whether she made it out or not. 

The edition I read had an introduction by Chuck Pahlahniuk, the author of Fight Club and several other novels. I read the intro after I had read the book - to avoid spoilers. (That proved to be a good choice!) Chuck thinks The Stepford Wives is a warning of a backlash against feminism and that Levin is just illustrating a more fundamental truth - men will just find a different way of putting women in boxes. It's an interesting take and shows that even a comparatively short novel can have depth and layers to it. 

I recognised the titles of most of Levin's other novels and would like to read more of his work, which I think is the highest credit a reader can give. The Stepford Wives really captivated me and I've found myself thinking about it several times after I finished the book. 

November 2022 - a month in review, part 1: Loss

November started with a big loss in our family as Cathy's Grampy, Jim, passed away. We were able to see him in hospital a few days before he died to say goodbye. We had another opportunity to say farewell at the funeral service, which was held on the 21st November in the church in Gloucester he had attended for over 50 years.

I knew most of the stories that were told in the tribute at the memorial service, because Grampy was good at telling stories about his life, often with a humorous twist in them. 

Despite being christened Percival (like my paternal grandfather), he was given the nickname 'Sunny Jim' as a small boy. He introduced himself as Jim all his life. 

Cathy told me that Jim had fought in the Second World War in one of the airborne regiments, but he rarely talked about it. However, later in life he was contacted by a wartime friend and began attending regimental reunions. 

Jim slowly started to talk about his war experiences, including being on Sword Beach on D-Day, and losing his friend from Gloucester who signed up with him and died from mortar wounds. He fought in the Battle of the Bulge, and later witnessed the liberation of concentration camps.

The extended family all attended the final regimental reunion a few years ago, which included a thanksgiving service at Exeter Cathedral where the regimental standard was officially retired. 

At a reception afterwards, there were some Second World War re-enactors, invited as guests with their vintage weaponry and equipment. Jim saw how one re-enactor was holding a sten gun and told him he would lose a fingertip holding it that way. 

Jim then brusquely took the gun off the young man and adopted the correct position. I watched, unnerved, as the muscle memory laid down decades ago took over and suddenly Jim was in firing stance, holding a gun he clearly still knew how to use. It really brought home to me the way the war he rarely spoke about had shaped him. He also served after the war in Palestine - present in the country when Zionists blew up the King David Hotel that was the British government headquarters at the time - and then briefly in Vienna.

Jim was always very welcoming from the first time I met him when I had just started going out with Cathy, through the many years since. He would always thank me in his broad Gloucester accent for driving over with Cathy to see him. He would always ask me how Shrewsbury Town, and more recently Barry Town, were getting on - although he usually knew already because he kept an eye out for their results. And he was very persistent in trying to feed me cake. (He was frequently successful.)

I grew to love him like another grandparent. Although everyone called him Jim, through Cathy I was also able to call him Grampy, and it was a real privilege to be able to do that.  

I have started to think of grief as the process of remapping the world and we have already started to do that by noticing the gaps. Jim would always ring up on Cathy's birthday to sing 'Happy Birthday' to her. That didn't happen this year, reminding us both of the space that he occupied and has vacated. He will be missed in many other ways and at other times as we remember him.

What would a UKIP Britain look like?

UKIP are making the news. Putting aside all the more outlandish elements – like the major donor who thinks it should be illegal for women to wear trousers, or the councillor who thinks there’s a causal link between gay marriages and flooding, or the guy who thinks we should euthanize babies with Down’s Syndrome (these are all real things – Google them) – there is a chance of electoral success in 2015.

Certainly, what UKIP has done is drive an increasingly hostile political narrative around immigration. The way immigration is reported and the way immigrants are written about in the press is almost entirely negative. It’s as if wanting to live somewhere else is criminally immoral and anyone wanting to move overseas is a black-hearted monster. Which I guess is bad news for the one and half million British-born people sunning it up in Spain.

I have a stake in the immigration debate because my Grandmother was an immigrant. She met and married my Granddad while he was on active service during the war – getting married in 1945 before the war ended. She gave birth to my Mum just after coming to this country, in January 1946.

It was a difficult time to be an immigrant. Being Scandinavian, Grandma had an accent that sounded a bit German to many people. Many men had been killed in the war, so there was an imbalance in society meaning many women were unlikely to meet and marry someone. So there was resentment of a foreigner marrying a man, when men generally were in short supply. (My Grandma was told this.)

My Mum has told me that when she was little the other mums in her village wouldn’t let their children play with her. For no other reason than her mum (my Gran) was foreign.

These days we would call that racist. And rightly so, because it was.

But that racism is what I think of when I hear Nigel Farage braying on about immigrants. The narratives we listen to shape our thought patterns. If we really believe the wicked foreigners are after our jobs and our women and our comfortable lifestyles; if we think they are criminals and thieves, then that will shape how we respond to them.

Racism is subtle. We can easily find ourselves agreeing with comments like the one Nigel Farage made about not wanting to live next door to a family of Romanians. And the next thing is you’re not allowing your kids to play with their kids for no other reason than because you are racist.

And that’s what I think a UKIP Britain would look like. It’s sad so many people seem to think that would be a better place to live. I hoped people were better than that.

The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

I'm a late adopter when it comes to books and this one has been around a while. This was Cathy's 'Secret Santa' book at book group. She read it in one sitting and then suggested I read it. I found out later that was because she wanted to discuss the ending with me.

The story is about a nine year-old boy called Bruno who moves from Berlin in 1943 when his father is promoted to Commandant at a concentration camp. He hates it there as he is lonely and there is nothing to do. But then he befriends a boy called Shmuel who is living on the other side of the fence, inside the camp.

The tension builds towards the end and I had a vague sense that something bad was going to happen - as presumably Bruno will realise what is going on and what is going to happen to Shmuel. However, the ending wasn't quite what I expected and it stayed with me vividly for a couple of days.

What is clever about the book is that for almost all of it you know more than the main protagonist. There are several moments where Bruno just doesn't get what is going on - for example when he tries to explain to Shmuel that he should have caught a less crowded train to the camp, because the one Bruno travelled on had plenty of room.

Another interesting element is that, with the exception of one young soldier, the Commandant and his family are portrayed as ordinary people doing what they think is right and good and proper. Bruno's mother drinks a bit too much; his father is authoritarian; his sister, Gretel, just accepts the existence of the camp as how things are - but none of them are bad people, even as they participate to a greater or lesser extent in the Holocaust.

It's to John Boyne's credit that as an author he didn't wimp out at the end. Having made you care about the characters, the power of the story would have been considerably less if he had given it a happy ending.

I gave this book five stars, so it will join the list. It's not one I will read again in a hurry, mainly because it's so memorable. In many ways, reading it reminded me of when I saw Schindler's List - the shock and horror of what happened in the Holocaust confronted me anew. Again, John Boyne, did well to take something so well-known and yet make me as a reader feel horrified all over again.

[Addendum, updated 2026 - this book has been heavily criticised by Holocaust memorial organisations. Almost all children were murdered in the gas chambers upon arrival at Auschwitz so Bruno would not have met Shmuel. The story also focuses on the impact on Bruno's family, which it's claimed moves the reader's sympathy to the perpetrators of the Holocaust. I have left my review above as it was when first posted in 2013, but wanted to include a note about the criticism.]

A special ceremony

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

I had the privilege of attending the Laying Up of the Standard of the 12th Battalion The Devonshire Regiment (Airborne) at Exeter Cathedral last week. It also marked the disbanding of the ex-serviceman's association linked to that battalion - which was the unit Cathy's Granpy served with during World War II.

The Airborne were the guys in gliders who landed in Northern France on D-Day to establish bridgeheads, most notable at Pegasus Bridge. Granpy's unit fought in the Ardennes and crossed the Rhine. They were among the first British troops to pass concentration camps, which they had to walk past leaving the forces coming behind them to liberate the prisoners. After marching across Europe they ended up somewhere on the shores of the Baltic where they were mistakenly shot at by Red Army soldiers. 

Granpy doesn't talk much about the war, or the time he spent enforcing the British mandate in Palestine in the years after VE Day. When he came home he wanted to forget about what he called the worst time of his life. He only got involved in the Association of those who served and survived relatively recently. 

It was poignant to see him standing among the handful of men who are left from the battalion. Many wore their medals. I always find it difficult to express the gratitude I feel to all those who left the safety of their homes to do the unthinkable, to shoot and be shot at, to risk death in gliders crash-landing at night in occupied territory. 

It was an honour to go and see the Standard committed to safe-keeping in the Regimental Headquarters and to sing the regimental hymn alongside these soldiers who have grown old, against all odds; to recognise their bravery and sacrifice.

"Our" Cup final

At long last a real cup final - between two teams who haven't won much for ages and for whom winning the FA Cup would be something special. For the first time in years, this was a cup final I planned to watch and I wasn't disappointed. Alright, Cardiff lost, but it was a very close game and there was enough attacking play to keep me interested.

A lot has been said about this being the first cup final since 1991 to feature two clubs outside the 'top 4', and the first time since 1995 that the winning team would be outside the top 4 and would have an English manager. The winner was also going to have won it for the first time since before the Second World War, which when you think about it, underlines the sheer weight of history football carries with it. In terms of a social phenomenon, there are few, if any, institutions which have retained such popularity for so long.

But for me the day was special when they sang the Welsh national anthem, and Cathy asked "Are those people booing our national anthem?" I guess that's when you know the assimilation is complete; when the national anthem becomes yours.