Are you still with me after that first 90 minutes? You are? Excited about extra time ahead? Great! But, before we get back to Lausanne and all those balls in bowls, I feel a quick recap is in order. There was an awful lot for you to digest.

The first half: Scene setting

Family watching Euro25 draw on the telly. Festive references, Santa, and Liam’s work do.

You discover that Liam and I are hoping to go to the Euros in Switzerland. That’s not really a plot spoiler as, without that premise, this whole blog is somewhat redundant.

The second half: Introducing the main players in this blog.

Some stuff about me, the Dad (A.K.A GrumpPa / Gavin) and why I enjoy women’s football.

A nod to that iconic Chloe Kelly moment at Wembley.

Stuff about the Lad-in-Law (A.K.A. Dadda / Liam) and why I’m travelling to Switzerland with him.

A pandemic. We meet a wondrous and mighty king. A marriage proposal. Dragons and a sofa.

There. You’re now bang up to date with the match highlights so far, and ready to crack on with the rest of the Euro25 draw.

Extra-Time: First Half.

Come with me now, back to Lausanne. After the delay caused by the music and dancing, the UEFA double-act, Ian and Annette’s speeches as hosts and the introduction of eight celebrity ball pickers, the draw is now rollicking along. The balls are being plucked from their bowls at some pace. These are then twisted open to reveal the nation hidden inside.

First out is Spain, swiftly followed by Germany and then France. These go into position one in groups B, C and D respectively. Position one in Group A has automatically been given to Switzerland as hosts. I snap a picture of how the groups look at this formative stage and send it to Liam.

Balls keep popping out and soon we see “ENGLAND” held aloft. The family are excited as England are placed into Group D along with France. Our Lionesses are allocated position D2. I take another shot of the television and text Liam.

More balls, more placings, the groups are shaping. Soon only one nation remains to be picked and we know, before that last ball is twisted open, that the final slot in England’s group will go to Wales. The fixtures are now known and the dates are set. We just wait to learn where England will play their matches, the venues are to be decided later this evening. I send Liam one final screenshot.

With that the ceremony comes to an end. It’s like a cup-tie that has gone to extra-time and penalties. All the balls are now opened, torn apart like the wrappings of gaily trimmed gifts on Christmas morning. Their contents arrayed in neat groupings for the world to gaze at in wonder. And, as Wrighty and Annette bid farewell from Switzerland, we hear the jingle-jangle of sleigh bells approaching.

Bethany takes Emilia and zips her into a cosy, snuggly all-in-one suit. My granddaughter looks like an Ewok. She smiles up at me, she’s so cute. Emilia looks up at me questioningly, “So, GrumpPa, are you and Dadda gonna go?”

We take Emilia outside into the dark night. Santa is on his way.

Santa is quite loud. I am surprised he can go about his work delivering gifts around the world so silently without disturbing all those excited children. Well, the Santa that parades along our street is loud. Christmas music blares from speakers cable-tied to the wagon upon which his plywood sleigh is mounted. I forget – that memory of mine again – which merry tune is playing as he comes towards us but, thankfully, it isn’t that blasted Wham song. I loathe that one. (Told you I was a grump.)

Bethany holds my little Emilia Ewok in her arms. I am tasked with snapping pictures on Bethany’s phone. Bad idea. If my daughter wants pics of Emilia’s first Christmas to record for posterity then I fail her spectacularly. Santa and his bucket-holding elves are coming at us out of the darkness, the wagon’s headlamps and the merrily twinkling lights shine brightly into my eyes. This maelstrom of LED lit madness, combined with Bethany bopping around to the music while Emilia wriggles and turns in her arms, means I struggle to take a half-decent shot. I snap loads but am convinced they will all be blurry messes of confusion.

I snap away like a wannabe paparazzi but my thoughts are elsewhere. My mind is in Switzerland and on the Euro draw that has just taken place. I so desperately want to go to the Euros to see The Lionesses play. I know, however, that my chances of getting tickets are slim.

Tickets for the tournament had been on sale for a while. Without knowing the groups and venues and dates for our matches, we would simply have been buying tickets for games at random with only a slim prayer of hitting it lucky and landing by fluke on an England game. Liam and I thus decided we would wait for the draw and then join what we expect would be a bun-fight for tickets. Plus, just a few days earlier, we had both received emails from the FA advising we were unsuccessful in the ballot for England tickets.

This ballot news surprised me a little but I wasn’t unduly disappointed. Mainly because I didn’t know there was a ballot or that I was even in it. I can only presume I was automatically entered because, at some earlier time, I had registered my interest with either the FA or perhaps UEFA. I always knew my ticket chances lay with being successful in the bun-fight to come.

What did disappoint me was that between the five of us Lioness fans – me, Liam, Bethany, Sarah and Young Dan* (the son of a very dear friend) – not a single one had been successful. Now, I am not a statistician or a mathematical whizz, but I would have thought at least one of was would have received good news through the ballot. I duly began to hone my bun-fighting skills.

* There is no Dan or Old Dan in this blog. Well, I’ve not met one yet. Maybe, on our travels, we will. Young Dan is so called because his name is Dan and he is young.

Extra-Time: Second Half

Back inside, after Santa has departed in search of fresh chimneys, we see that Liam has texted. Son-In-Law-No1 has been busy. He may be on his works Christmas do, but Liam is not getting hammered on cheap shots, nor has he been steadily knocking back the pints. Actually, he’s not a drinker. Instead, while his work colleagues have been partay-ing, Liam has been Googling.

He’s been Googling like a festive elf on a candy cane sugar rush.

“Does it say which venue for 9^th?” Liam’s text to our family group comes through at 1746 hours.

“Not yet. Imagine it’s first match of day.” Bethany immediately replies.

Bethany cell rings. (Doncha love how our American cousins refer to mobile phones as “cells”? I do). It’s Liam calling. I can’t make out what’s being discussed just from hearing Bethany’s end of the conversation. I only know it is Euro talk.

Bethany paces about. She’s getting a little fidgety. I hear snippets.

“You’ve got tickets?”

“Really? When for?”

“Which match is that?”

“Where’s it being played?”

I’m getting excited. Those “kid on Christmas Eve nerves” start to grip me. Shit’s happening.

I’m not sure what shit is happening but it sounds to me like it’s some good shit.

“Dad. Can you log onto the UEFA site now?”

I look at Daughter-No1 as I move to my laptop. “Yeah. Why? What’s happening?”

“Liam’s got Group D tickets for the 9^th. Zurich.”

I’m sat now, my fingers flying over the keyboard. I hit all the wrong keys in my haste and excitement. I try for a second… then a third time to type my password. My Mac finally unlocks.

“He can’t get tickets for the other D game on the 9^th in St. Gallen. The site won’t let him.”

“Why not?” I search my emails for one from UEFA. I click the ticketing link and Safari fires up.

“Because it only lets you buy tickets for yourself. You can’t be in two places at once.”

Even as I feverishly search the page that opens before me, trying to navigate the site and find the place where all the tickets hang out, I know that makes sense. Of course it does! The site only allows you to buy the tickets you can actually use.

I’m there now. “Why am I looking for St. Gallen?” I ask. “The 9^th you say?” Look at me, silver-haired GrumpPa, multi-tasking. Talking and typing at the same time. All the while getting more and more anxious and het up. I so hate buying tickets online. The pressure. The tension. Will I get tickets. Are there even any left? They’ve already all gone, haven’t they? I’m too late. God, why won’t this website work?

“That’s the date for the first England fixture. Either Zurich or St. Gallen. Liam’s got the Zurich ones. If you can get St. Gallen then you’ve definitely got a Lionesses match.”

“Righty ho.” I’m up to speed with things now. I think. My anxiety is still rising though. Bloody ticketing websites….Bah! Humbug! 

“Has he actually bought them? Or are they just in his basket, waiting to buy?” I ask.

Bethany checks. “Bought and paid. He’s got them.” She squeals excitedly.

Match details appear in front of me. I scan the screen. There! St. Gallen…the 9^th!

I slide my finger over the pad, placing the cursor over the fixture. I click.

“Sold out.” I say. My hopes crushed. I was too slow to log in. My fingers failed me, all those keys hit in error. I am devastated.

“Oh.” Says Daughter-No1. She passes this news onto Liam. “At least you’ve got Zurich tickets. They still might play there.”

I know she’s right. We have a fifty-fifty chance of our tickets being the right ones. We also have a fifty-fifty chance that they are not. I pray that we are allocated Zurich by the UEFA powers.

I don’t know why but, as I try to process my disappointment, I click refresh. The page flickers briefly. Look, there! Can it be? St. Gallen tickets are now available! I point at the screen. “Bounce!”

“Buy them, Dad! Quick!” Bethany yells. Her call with Liam has ended.

I click. Move the cursor and select two tickets. “Which category?” I ask.

“Doesn’t matter. Just get them.”

Suddenly, I have two tickets for the 9^th July St. Gallen fixture in my basket. I go to pay.

A counter starts running down. I only have a few minutes to do this! More pressure. God I hate online ticketing! My wallet, a card. I enter details. Shit! Not the good kind of shit this time. The bank wants to verify I am genuine and approve the transaction. It will send me a code by text. Bugger! I changed my number in the summer and haven’t updated my details yet. I won’t get the code I need! The timer continues downwards, time is slipping away.

My wallet again. A different card this time. The one I use for business. Sod it, I will sort it out later! I type the numbers. Enter the 3 magic digits. I carefully check the name I have typed. Christ! How can I get my own name wrong? I retype it. Double, then triple check the information on screen.

“Bethany, does that say St. Gallen? The 9^th July?”

She peers over my shoulder. “Yes.”

“And it definitely says I’ve got two tickets?”

“Yes.”

I hit confirm.

Bethany texts Liam at 1808. It’s been a mere twenty-two minutes since he texted us but, to me, it seems like an eternity has passed. I am exhausted.

“YOURE IN.” Her message reads. The joy screams from those seven capital letters that appear on my iPhone. At this time I will forgive my daughter’s grammatical faux-pas and the absence of an apostrophe. BECAUSE I”VE GOT TWO TICKETS TO ENGLAND v THE NETHERLANDS! 

And it doesn’t matter where UEFA decide England play their first game. Zurich or St. Gallen.

My message to the group arrives at the same time. “ST GALLEN BABY!!!!”

Liam and I will be watching the Lionesses at Euro25!

I am somewhat euphoric now. As the youngsters – those like Young Dan – might say, “I’m buzzing!” I cannot quite believe it. Right up until this point, a trip overseas to the Euros was really nothing more than just a pipe-dream. At best it was a hopeful Christmas wish. Some may have been dreaming of a white Christmas, my dreams were of Euro tickets. Now, thanks to sterling work from Liam, our official Purveyor of Tickets, I am actually going to watch The Lionesses compete in a major European football tournament on foreign soil.

I let it sink in and pop the kettle on. While it is boiling and I’m spooning coffee into mugs, I ruminate on what led us to this.

*Cue Scooby-Doo style wobbly screen fade to the past*

We were driving home from Wembley after that final in 2022 when the idea of going to the next European Championship first arose. Liam was at the wheel, Bethany Googling away in the passenger seat.

“Where are the 2025 Euro’s?” One of us asked.

“Not decided yet. Maybe France or Switzerland. Four Scandinavian countries bidding. Poland in the mix too.” Bethany informed us.

“I hope it’s Poland!” Son-in-Law-No1 declared. “We love Poland. Cheaper than the others as well.”

“When do we find out?” I chimed in from the back.

“Let’s see.” Bethany says, taping at her phone. “Not until April 2023.”

“Hmm. Poland would be best. I could probably afford that.” I said. “Maybe France.”

“Isn’t Switzerland very expensive? If they pick Switzerland then it’s not happening.”

“We should do as Gabby Logan said the other night.” I suggested.

“What did she say?”

“Something about if you’ve enjoyed these Euros, then go support a women’s team. Keep the buzz from these games going. Help grow the game.”

Silence descended in the car for a while as we pondered. By the time we stopped for a wee at Leicester Forest East, we had decided to do just that. Over a coffee, yet another Google search informed us that our nearest WSL teams are in Manchester; either City or United.

“City season tickets are £69.” Liam said. “I looked a few days ago. But they’re off-sale at the moment.”

“That’s cheap.” Bethany peered at her screen. “United have a few Lionesses in their squad. Theirs are still available.”

 “How much?” I asked.

“No. That can’t be correct.” Bethany muttered. “They’re £35.”

 And that is the tale of how we came to be A) thinking about a trip to Euro25, and B) supporting the red side of Manchester.

Penalties

This will be the final instalment of this early part of my blog; I pinky promise you. Nine parts to explain why Liam and I are going to Switzerland and how we got tickets to a Lionesses game is probably enough. It’s akin to an old FA Cup tie going to a fourth or fifth replay. Yes, Young Dan, that was a thing back in the day. None of this “ has to be decided on the day” malarkey.

*Scooby-Doo style wobbly screen fade to current – 16^th December – date*

The kettle comes to the boil, I make the cuppas. Three coffees with milk, no sugar, for Sarah, Bethany and I. Emilia takes hers black with two sugars. I jest, baby experts! Emilia has only one in hers.

While I’ve been on refreshment duty, Liam has again texted. He’s only got more tickets! This time for a Group B game on Friday 11^th in Bern. We check the www and discover that it is the Italy versus Spain match. Spain are current World Champions having beaten The Lionesses in last year’s World Cup Final. Our official Purveyor of Tickets is on top form tonight.

Texts between Liam and Bethany flood into our family group. They are checking travel times between the various venues, looking at transport routes and many other wotnots that Liam, in his secondary role as Organiser of Travel Planning to the royal household, is responsible for. Suddenly and, if I am totally honest, unexpectedly, our trip is taking shape.

Liam’s work do has ended. Bethany leaves with Emilia to collect him from the train station.

More texts arrive later that night. Daughter-No1 and Son-in-Law-No1 have put Granddaughter-No1 to bed and are now busy planning. Questions are asked about someone Sarah knows who has friends who have friends who we think might have a home in Switzerland. Maybe we could blag a stay? Swiss train timetables have been consulted and journey times noted. Hammocks are mentioned around this point…this one totally confuses me. Then – it’s a Christmas miracle – rooms in Zurich and Bern (the two cities we have match tickets for) have been acquired. An image of a grubby pit of a room with a manky bed arrives in the group text. I chuckle at the squalid scene, it’s a funny joke. God! I hope it’s a joke and not one of the bookings Liam has actually made.

Flights are checked but now that the fixtures are known there must be loads of people searching for them. “Dynamic pricing” seems to be at play as costs are high and rapidly rising. Bethany is currently “working on it” but, owing to the prices currently shown for Swiss airports, we “may be flying into Milan”. We have tickets for matches and places to stay but, as yet, we cannot get there.

Liam sends an animated GIF of hitchhikers attempting to get a ride. Now that is funny.

I put down my phone and switch off the light. Sleep beckons and I dream of Switzerland.