The DadLadTour (Now Actually In Switzerland)

Day 3 (Part 5) – Bern to Genève. Five Fabulous, Feisty Finnish Funsters.

The Match – The Italians come up against the Spanish

11^th – 12^th July 2025

We are among the first to leave the Wankdorf as the match enters its final few minutes.

We are determined not to miss that last train from Bern to Genève and set a good pace towards the train station. This walk, from stadium to station, is not a far as last night’s. We are about half-way when we hear cheering erupt from behind us. It is not a “goal” cheer, we’ve heard enough of them over the years to recognise that sound. Instead, it is the sound of full-time being blown and relief/exultation being expressed by those at the game.

We quicken the pace. One last push, I urge my aching feet.

We need Platform 1. The train – or at least “a” train – awaits. Is it ours? Liam tells me to get on while he dashes along the platform to the front to check its destination. I obey and climb aboard an empty train.

I sit and then realise I need a wee. Do the loos work when trains aren’t moving? I wonder. The toilet door opens. Phew! Seems they do. I make use of the facilities. Then discover the toilet won’t flush. I try several times before deciding to make a run for it and get back to my seat before anyone else gets on board and can discover my faux pas.

My cheeks are flushed when I regain my seat – at least something is. Seconds later the platform begins to fill with people and passengers begin to bustle aboard. Just made it! No-one is any the wiser about toilet-gate.

Liam is back. Yep, this is our train. We make ourselves comfortable for the long journey – nearly three hours – back to Genève. Fans grabs seats, stow their bags and begin to settle in around us. Thankfully I hear no gasps from the direction of the loo.

Like many trains, this one has four seats on each side of the central aisle. Liam and I are sat in the two window spots of one quartet of seats; the two aisle seats are empty.

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A group of five women arrive. They are around mid/late twenties to mid-thirties; about the age of #DaughterNo1, I’d guess. I would be lying if I said they weren’t attractive. Some are wearing shorts, a few have white Euro 25 branded tees on. Each is trim and athletic. They all look healthy and vibrant, bursting with energy and life. They possess a vitality and exuberance that is commendable this close to midnight.

Four of them claim the seats over the aisle. The fifth sits herself next to Liam and diagonally across from me. They are chattering away ten-to-the-dozen in a language I cannot quite identify. All are in high spirits. Laughing and giggling, they are having a great time. The noise they make rises in volume to compete with the sounds coming from the influx of passengers now crowding the entire carriage. It is standing room only and the aisles are rammed.

It seems they only wanna have a good time.

At precisely 2330 – the time stated for this additional “football” service – our train pulls away.

I notice the girl opposite me has removed a “bum-bag” from around her waist. It is a EURO25 branded bag and is rather stylishly done; the logo is not at all gaudy or cheaply done as is often the case.

“Didn’t see any of them, did you?” I ask Liam. “A nice one too.”

Liam looks at the bum-bag and nods.

“Wonder where she got that from?” I ponder.

The young woman answers my “non-question”. “They are given to players.” She says in absolute perfect English. She has an adorable lilt to her voice, it’s from somewhere I cannot place. “We are in the Finnish team.”

I think I have misheard. “Finnish team?’ So that’s where her accent is from. “You’re players?”

“Yes.”

What? The Finland national team?”

“We played last night. Against Switzerland.”

“We were at that game!” I exclaim. Wow. This will be great for the blog.

“I’m sorry, I not clued up on the Finnish team. What are your names? I’d love to include you in the blog we’re doing about our Euro trip!”

With hindsight, I may have got just a little too giddy. No matter what their native tongue, I guess I sounded like a total eejit in any language!

I show her the cover of my red DadLadTour notebook, pointing at the URL on the cover. This is amazing! How often do you get to meet, let alone share a train ride with, real-life international footballers? I am beside myself with excitement.

She laughs…

Let’s go girls…

Leaning across the aisle, she chats with her friends. A peal of laughter rings out.

…the prerogative to have a little fun, fun, fun…

…fun…fun…

Something is obviously quite hilarious to these five Finnish femme fatales.

“I’m sorry.” The blonde woman says to me. “We are not with the team.”

This seems a definitive statement now that I write it but, in the moment, it made no sense to me. I didn’t understand what she was saying.

…go totally crazy…

I must look perplexed. “We are not footballers.” She says. “Well, we do play football. But not for the national team.”

“Oh.” I must have looked like a kid whose lolly just slipped off its stick.

…really go wild…

“We decided that’s what we would say if anyone asked.”

“Has anyone asked yet?”

“You are the first.” She says.

She speaks again to her gal pals. I let them carry on with their fun and return to sitting quietly.

…the best thing about bein’ a woman…

After a while she addresses me. “My friends think I have upset you. I am sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not upset at all.” I say. “But you fooled me good and proper. You were very convincing.”

…yeah, doin’ it in style…

Liam discovers that they are – in fact – footballers in Finland. Not national players but they do play for a Helsinki based club in – I think – their third division. They came out yesterday, the Thursday, and really did attend the Switzerland versus Finland game – but only as fans. They were somewhere in that block just to the right of us. They were probably responsible for LFCW Lass being showered in beer. The Funsters are in Switzerland for just a few days and return home on Sunday.

Now, I’m not a stalker – trust me, I’m not…isn’t that exactly what a stalker would say?…but just before the Five Finnish Funsters leave the train, I lean across and ask if I can have their names for my blog. My question is not a poor attempt at a “pick-up” line. I’m not interested in them for anything of that nature – not, as I earlier said, they aren’t attractive. Even if I was attempting that sort of interaction I doubt they would be interested in an old GrumpPa like me. They really don’t look that needy and/or desperate.

Even if they were interested, I suspect the Five Finnish Funsters would absolutely destroy me if any shenanigans of that nature occurred. And if  they didn’t kill me, I know for a fact that Sarah would finish the job for them if she found ever out!

“Just your first names. You don’t have to give your real names, either.” I say. “You can make names up. After all, you have form when it comes to tall tales!”

My tormentor laughs. She repeats my request to her friends. They agree and take the DadLadTour notebook. Each writes a name – who knows if any of what they write is real? – and several of the Finnish Funsters snap a picture of the notes I have just jotted about them. They ask about the blog and I pull it up on my phone. Taking a picture of my screen, they promise to take a look at the blog.

And then, at the next station my Five Finnish Funsters – Linda, Anna-Maria, Inna, Elisa and Hanna – depart the train and continue with their own Swiss adventures.

Later, back at the hotel, I take a look in my note book.

Alongside their names, one of them has drawn a heart. Checking my phone, I see the blog has a new Instagram follower. She’s called Inna and her profile is of one of these feisty females..

It seems at least one of the Five Finnish Funsters gave her real name.